Learning to Live
by awellspokenbeast
Summary: Harry Potter's life began that morning in May. This is my vision of how he learned to live it. Proto-songfic, Canon Pairings
1. Hysteria

My chapters are named for the songs I listened to that inspired them. Interspersed in the body of the story are phrases of lyrics from the song for that chapter. This chapter's song is "Hysteria" by Muse. I do not own the lyrics to the song and will not profit from their use in any way.

Also, I am not J.K. Rowling. These characters are not mine. I feel like that's an unnecessary statement being as this is , but hey, I'm not a lawyer. Also, this will be the first last and only time I give that disclaimer unless specifically instructed to do so by an appropriate agent.

Tl;dr: I did not write Harry Potter or the songs/poetry/prose that inspired my writing so I don't own them but use them for my own creative purposes and do not profit from their use. Don't bug me about disclaimers.

Hysteria

Ginny sat with her mother, numb and expressionless, overwhelmed by the feelings which would otherwise be twisting her around and turning her inside out. Mere hours ago, the man who held her heart had resurfaced at Hogwarts after having been evading capture for the better part of a year and her prodigal brother returned and, despite his numerous insults to the family, he was welcomed back with open arms. Voldemort had laid siege to Hogwarts Castle and demanded the surrender of Harry Potter and when Hogwarts needed to unify in its darkest hour, it did… mostly. Then her brother was killed, crushed beneath an exploded wall, and despite she had lost already, she was a Gryffindor – she would have to endure this.

Finally came Voldemort's ultimatum, and then, shortly after midnight, came news of the death of Harry Potter, who had died running from the battle. She saw his broken body. She saw the sneers on the faces of the Death Eaters as the Sorting Hat was set ablaze on Neville Longbottom's head and those sneers turn into grimaces as Neville beheaded Voldemort's snake with the sword of Gryffindor. A melee broke out. Ron and Neville took down Greyback. She and Luna and Hermione dueled Bellatrix, all until Molly Weasley killed the bitch to save her life and the lives of her friends. Voldemort's rage nearly killed her mother, but for a very timely and quite unexpected _Protego _and the sudden reappearance of Harry James Potter. The man she loved had died. She had seen him lifeless in Hagrid's arms, and yet there he was. He had protected her mother from a spell from Voldemort and there he was again, wand at the ready, circling around the man who had killed him. Harry was dead and then he was alive and then he won. Even as hours passed and revelry overtook Hogwarts, it was still too much for her to handle. She felt so much that she felt nothing at all. Her brain was processing it subconsciously and for that, she was grateful.

Fred's body lay in one of the classrooms nearby. The war, his death, Harry's reappearance and victory – it was too much all at once for her family; in silence, they sat together in a corner of the great hall, ignoring the celebrations going on around them. Moments ago, Harry had been surrounded by a throng of well-wishers and pedants, all thanking him and congratulating him, and then just as quickly, he wasn't. He hated being the center of attention, she knew, but of all the times to simply disappear, it hardly seemed appropriate – there was business to be attended to between the two of them. Moments later, Ron and Hermione had left, but realistically, it was probably Harry under his blasted invisibility cloak, dragging them off somewhere for another mission or a secret meeting or some other such nonsense.

She couldn't care right now. She couldn't care, but oh, how she wanted him. She wanted him now: to feel his arms around her; to touch his face; to taste his lips. She wanted him, craved him, but could only rationally recognize the feelings. She felt cold within, as though she was in some way only dreaming that she was alive. Perhaps once the magnitude of the present wore off, she would feel the love and fury and sorrow and jubilation that she knew dwelled within her. She wasn't sure how she would react to Harry's inevitable, awkward apology, but it ultimately would involve his jaw with either her fists or her lips. One or both was sure to happen. For the time being, there was only her mother's hand, thoughtlessly stroking her arm as she rested her head on the older woman's shoulder.

She looked across the table at Fleur absently rubbing Bill's back. The woman had grown on her a great deal in the past year and now, despite their wounds and exhaustion, they really did look like a wonderful couple. Like Lupin and Tonks. Lupin and Tonks were dead as well. Their son was an orphan. Their beautiful baby was an orphan. Where would he stay? With Tonks' mother? Who would take care of them now that Mr. Tonks, Lupin, and Tonks were all dead? Ginny hated herself for not being able to express more. The odd foggy distance between her and the world did not seem to close at all, however, and while her mind was increasingly returning to the moment at hand, she could not even make herself cry, or any other thing but sit and be held.

She wanted Harry now and despite her hopes for the future, she could feel her faith erode with the passing moments. He had been gone so long. The ministry reported his impending death constantly. She had been tortured, abused and humiliated and he was not there to protect her, to swoop in and save her from the cruelty of Tom Riddle the way he had her first year. Harry was not there and now he was here and… and… Ginny's mind stopped processing. Her body shuddered. Once. Twice. Finally, tears formed in her eyes. She felt her pain, her exhaustion, her sympathies and her own losses. Finally, through the haze of her mind protecting her, Ginny began to sob violently into her mother's chest. It was not long before she felt the contractions that told her that her mother was crying with her.

After a moment, two strong hands gripped her shoulders. She looked up, hopeful that Harry had finally returned, though she was too sad in the moment to be disappointed to see Charlie's face. Their family was finally reunited – Charlie from Romania, Percy from the Ministry, and Ron from Harry's mission. At long last, they were together again. Ginny placed her small hand on Charlie's and gripped his fingers. They had all suffered. The sound of several footsteps marched past the doors to the Great Hall, but she did not look up until the table shook violently and George sprinted to the door. A Death Eater was being led by Aurors to the main gate, but George tackled the man and began to punch him, wailing incoherently until he was pulled off by Kingsley Shacklebolt, who held him firmly before pulling him into a crushing hug, which, after a moment, George reciprocated. The Aurors quietly picked the man up and led him past, no one particularly interested in defending the man they now dragged out the ruin of the main doors and down the hill to Hogsmeade.

Kingsley led George back to the table and whispered in Arthur's ear. Ginny's dad stood up and followed Kingsley to an empty corner of the hall, where Ginny watched him nod his head for a moment before dropping it entirely. Kingsley put his large hand on the back of Arthur's neck without malice, but rather in solidarity and Arthur nodded his head again, apparently in resignation. Kingsley patted him on the shoulder as Arthur made his way in silence back to the table, resuming his place next to his wife.

"I've been promoted," he said quietly. "Senior Assistant Minister something or other. We'll work on the title later. He said he wants to talk to you, Percy, when you feel up to it." Percy looked up and over at Kingsley, who nodded at him. Percy bit his lip and rose from his seat, walking towards the interim minister without his usual haste or zeal. Kingsley led them out of the hall towards the classrooms and once again, the Weasley table resumed its sad silence.

Ginny's mind drifted inevitably back to Harry, wondering where he was and why he wasn't here with her. Where was her brother and why didn't he throw Harry over his shoulder and carry him down to see her? Why wasn't Hermione rationally explaining to them the fact that they all needed to come back and be with their family? At the end of the summer last year, Ginny was ready to give her heart and soul to Harry if that's what he wanted. The kiss she gave him had gotten her through several cold and desperate nights but she never had the opportunity to find out how he felt other than his stubborn nobility telling him he must venture forth and save the world… again.

That was the damnedest thing about Harry. She would not love a lesser man – a man that did not brave the dangers that Harry had so often braved. She would have been perfectly happy if he had not had to face peril so often, but if he had not always risen to accept the challenges presented to him, he would not be her Harry and she would not adore him. Where was he? Ron and Hermione had been gone for twenty minutes now, which presumably meant that Harry had been gone for twenty minutes as well. A sigh escaped her, dispersing the quiet that sat over her family. "Fred's dead," George muttered, almost too quiet to hear, the look on his face pallid and struck. He did not cry – no one did, but rather the realization that this was no prank or final joke began to seep into the collective consciousness of the family.

Ron entered the hall, apparently alone, and it was then that Ginny was able to see the impact of the past year on him. While he had always been lean, he now looked rather like a long rail. His clothes were filthy and had several holes and scorches in them and through a tear in his shirt, she saw a small burn on his chest that seemed to have scarred horribly. He approached the table's end and took a knee, looking over his family. "Did Percy go mental and run off again," he said, a sad attempt at joviality. No one responded, but Bill and Charlie glared at him with a look of humorless exhaustion. "Right, well, up you come. You lot are coming with me to Gryffindor Tower and we're going to get some rest. Anything else can wait until later." Ginny picked herself off her mother's side and stood allowing her parents and brothers to lead the way. Ron let the rest pass him and walked alongside her.

"He's waiting for you. He was going to come with me but Hermione cast a sleeping spell on him. He resisted for a good minute, but she wound up having to float him into the dormitory." Ginny smiled at the image. There would be time later to talk, she knew, perhaps even years. For now, she was simply ready to break down and sleep. The Weasley family walked up the stairs to Gryffindor tower – not once did a staircase rotate and halt their progress – and when they reached the portrait of the fat lady, she simply looked at them before opening the portrait hole, smiling. "Right, go on in, then."

Hermione lay sleeping on the couch in front of the fireplace, now dormant for the first time in anyone's memory, and Ron quietly scooped her up and carried her into the Dormitory where Harry also lay sleeping. When Ginny made her way to the door, she turned and caught her mother's eye. She simply returned the gaze and with a slight smile, whispered, "sleep well, Ginny." Ginny smiled back at her as she watched her parents go into the dormitory across the landing before climbing into bed with Harry, snuggling into the crook of his neck, and quickly submitting to slumber.


	2. Starlight

This chapter was inspired by the song "Starlight" by Muse.

Starlight

Harry awoke suddenly gasping and jolted upright in his bed. The curtains of his familiar four-poster were drawn in around him, but he was surprised to find that he was not alone in his bed. Next to him, seemingly undisturbed by his violent awakening, lay a vision – his Ginny, the singular aim of his heart and the one desire he possessed that motivated him through the bitter days of the past year. She looked radiant, or at least as radiant as one can look having just fought in an incredibly destructive battle. When he saw her step through the portrait in the Room of Requirement, his fear of losing her again prevented him from being able to truly enjoy her presence, but now, by the sunlight slipping in through the shattered window, he poured over her.

The curve of her face had become more severe and he could only presume that she had been eating very little of late. She was dirty and the floral smell that he associated with her was covered by the smell of ash, but for all the details that reminded him of the hardships she had gone through, he still basked in her presence. She electrified his life and for every one of his hopes and expectations for the future, more than anything else, he desperately wanted her to be there with him. That was, of course, if she could forgive him. He had not meant to abandon her, but that was what he had done. The damned attack on Bill's wedding… he had been denied anything resembling a good-bye… her kiss was the only thing left to him.

He laid his head back down on the pillow next to her and watched her in the dead sleep of those who have exerted every ounce of their energy. He watched as her chest rose and fell, her lips slightly parted. Those lips. Those lips. The last thing he thought of before he died was the feel of those lips. He could face death any number of times if he were emboldened by those lips. He leaned toward Ginny, but paused. The fire he loved would not be there. The feeling would not be the same. It would be better to wait and hope that she would let him kiss those lips again than to steal a kiss from her now. Would he ever kiss her again? Could she forgive him? He wasn't certain. He certainly hoped that the rather difficult circumstances of his departure would mitigate any feelings of abandonment she might have. His intentions certainly didn't include fleeing for his life, let alone without saying goodbye.

No. Not goodbye. Never goodbye. What does one say in those circumstances? He didn't have the answer. He just wanted to hold her in his arms. Sneaking his hand beneath her pillow, he slid through until her head rested on his shoulder and he wrapped the arm around her, holding her close to him. It suddenly occurred to Harry that this might be a dream, a pleasantry created by his mind to help him cope with the sorrow and survivor's guilt he felt. Rationally, he knew he was alert enough that what he was experiencing was real, but as he closed his eyes to slip back to sleep, he promised to never let her go if she promised not to fade away.

Harry awoke to an empty bed. The starlight still shone through the curtains, but he was much less satisfied with the vision before him. Perhaps Ginny in his arms really had been a pleasant dream. He sat up stiffly, although feeling sore now felt like a luxury. Tossing open the curtain, he recognized that he was alone in the dormitory – all the other beds were neatly made, though he couldn't be certain that Kreacher did not clean up someone else's mess for them. His stomach rumbled violently and he realized that the sandwich Kreacher had made for him must have been long digested. He would go to the kitchens and see if there was any food left in the stores. As he stood and took full appraisal of his surroundings, he noticed a covered plate on his side table and a cup filled with what appeared to be pumpkin juice. Whether Kreacher, another elf, or one of his friends, he was grateful for the wonderful consideration, and taking off the lid, was quite pleased to find a whole treacle tart. Picking up the fork provided, he scooped out an exceedingly large portion and took a ravenous bite, quite certain that nothing would ever taste so good again. He picked the plate up and shoveled bite after bite into his mouth, guzzled the pumpkin juice and within no time at all, the food was gone. A loud belch issued forth from him and he hoped that no one heard him… well… except perhaps Kreacher, whom he had assumed would be quite pleased that his master had enjoyed his meal. Harry set the dishes down on the side table where he had found them and walked to the door, stretching various muscles as he made his slow way to the showers.

After scrubbing and resigning himself to Madam Pomfrey's eventual care, Harry had hoped that he might see the Weasleys collected and waiting for him, more specifically that he could see Ginny and be certain once and for all that she was not a figment of his imagination. As he walked down the steps into the common room, he saw that the fire was now blazing where it had been cold the last time. Through the large window, he could see Hogsmeade and the destruction that Voldemort had wrought, but nonetheless, the torches burned in the village and there were signs of life, especially at the Three Broomsticks.

He walked to the window and opened it, feeling the cool breeze in the night sky. Now too he could hear the celebrations echoing across the lake from the tavern and he wished that he could join them in some normal manner – not as the savior of magical Britain, but as just another wizard, happy to have survived certain calamity. Unfortunately, he knew, that was not to be. As long as he had the scar, he would always be _HarryPotter_. Not Harry. Not Potter. Not Harry Potter. _HarryPotter_. He would be an idea to most people; the sort of reluctant celebrity who understands why people surround him, but who really and truly would just like to watch the match with his friends, thank you very much. He had a certain comfort with the distance between himself and the activity in the world – he'd known it all his life.

At his Aunt's house, he'd been relegated to a cupboard beneath the stairs where he could hear the television playing the football match or hear Dudley and his friends loudly playing video games and he knew he couldn't come out because he'd either be scolded or beat up. Now he was relegated to distant towers, listening to celebrations lauding his victory, and he knew he couldn't go out because he couldn't enjoy himself – he'd be surrounded by people longing to have a picture with the hero, who would be pushing away the people with whom he had wanted to enjoy the moment in the first place. If he had been uncomfortable when he had largely undeserved celebrity, how could he possibly become comfortable now when even he would say he earned it?

Of course, it was not all good things that came as a result of the battle. Fred… Colin… Remus and Tonks… all dead. He would not say they died because of him – to do so would diminish the sacrifice he knew each had made. He would say that he regretted that the defeat of Voldemort came at such an insurmountably high cost. It was an unfortunate effect of his years since discovering magic that being surrounded so regularly by death and the constant potential for immediately dying over the past year had given him a very scientific perspective on death, although seeing his loved ones in the forest had admittedly shaken him. The one thing he knew for certain about death was that the people who had died… the people he had loved… were at peace.

Fred died smiling. Colin died fighting. Remus and Tonks died together. He had seen Remus personally after he had died and knew that he was happy to be reunited with people he loved so dearly. When Harry had died himself, he did not feel pain or fear death, but rather thought of Ginny and the features about her that attracted him so completely. He spoke with Dumbledore and discovered bits of the eternal truths of magic – details that from Voldemort's perspective were irrelevant, but that had proved to be the ultimate weapon against him.

A noise came from the portrait hole and Harry turned to see Ron and Hermione talking and laughing together. Harry stepped away from the window and walked towards the two, noting how close they were to each other and how regularly they touched. Hermione noticed Harry first and quickly ran to him, throwing her arms around him in her best Molly Weasley hug. "Harry," she said. "We made it." Ron walked up to the two of them and Hermione slowly eased her grip on Harry, stepping back to stand with Ron. Harry smiled at his two best friends, Ron grinning from ear to ear and Hermione glowing with a sort of indefinable joy. They really had made it. They beat Voldemort. There were no more snatchers. The war really was over and, despite new scars and interesting stories to go along with them, they could now conspire to reignite the spirit of the world around them. He put his arms around them and pulled them into a deep hug.

"Yeah Hermione," Harry smiled, "we made it." Harry stepped out of the embrace and raised an eyebrow at his friends. "So we're a couple now, are we," he teased. Hermione blushed deeply and Ron scratched the back of his head, but Harry was sure the back of his neck was glowing Weasley red. Ron finally looked over at Hermione and took her hand in his.

"Yeah," he said, her eyes now meeting his. "Yeah, I suppose we are." Harry clapped him on the back as he walked past them, making his way to the portrait hole. "Oi," Ron called out, "where are you off to?" Harry stopped and turned back, smirking at the vision of tall, gangly Ron with his arm around the much shorter Hermione.

"Dunno… thought I might try to find your sister." At this, Ron looked murderous before a look of uncomfortable inner turmoil crossed his face. Hermione only smiled at Harry before shooing him out of the room, taking Ron's hand and leading him to the dormitories. The halls of Hogwarts were dark and quiet, but for the first time in his life, he walked through them in the middle of the night unafraid. Mr. Filch would not catch him out of bed. There were no crazed murderers out to kill him. He did not have to sneak into the forest for any reason. He was going to have a biscuit or two, find his girlfriend, endure whatever punishment she might have in store for him, and at long last, put his arms around her and kiss her the way he had been dreaming about for months.


	3. Possession

This chapter was inspired by the song "Possession" by Sarah McLachlan

Possession

Ginny had slept with Harry. Not "slept with" Harry, just slept with him, and even through the dirt and sweat, the scent that was so undeniably him gave her a wonderful sense of calm from being able to bask in it. She slept through the night and woke several hours later than she had intended, finding Harry's arm holding her close and seeing Ron and Hermione were still in bed, and quite deservedly so. The sun was already descending in the western sky and she could not will herself to just stay in bed any longer – she got up, went to the showers in the girls' dormitory, and just as she had hoped, a house elf had cleaned her clothes while she washed. Hermione would be scandalized, but Ginny had to say it was one of the wonderful things about Hogwarts: guaranteed service.

She was glad her family had slept through much of the day. Her father had found Kingsley who had moved Fred from one of the common classrooms into McGonagall's office. Well… her old office – she was Headmistress now on declaration by Kingsley until the Board of Governors could confirm the decision. When she found her father, he had been speaking to Percy outside the office, but from inside she could hear her mother's wailing. They stopped her when she tried to go in; "just… give her a moment alone, Ginny," Percy had said, his voice trapped in a sad yearning. "We'll all have our time… it's hers now." Ginny instead put her arms around him, gripping onto him and sighing.

"I'm glad you're here, Perce. I missed you." It was true, he was not her favorite brother, not that she would admit to having a particular favorite, but he was her brother and she had missed what he brought to the family. She broke off from him and slumped into her father, who quickly put his arms around her, gripping her tightly in a way that was more reminiscent of her mother than him. She felt Percy's hand on her shoulder and the hurt among them practically filled the air. She would mourn Fred when given the chance, but she didn't even know if George or her father had gone in and they would obviously want some privacy as well, especially George – his life-long companion was now a memory trapped in time.

She would likely bring Harry along, Bill would bring Fleur, and unless she assumed wrong, Ron would bring Hermione. It was well for all of them that they had support, though she hurt for her father knowing that he was trying so desperately to be strong for the whole family, and if he had been given his chance to grieve, he was asked to bounce back far too quickly. She patted her father on the back and he loosened his grasp on her. When she looked up to meet his eyes, the look he gave her was simply devastating – she had never seen anyone as buoyant and pleasant as her father look, well… like Harry: indelibly scarred, utterly inconsolable, and distressingly stoic about the whole matter. She walked past them and continued her way downstairs.

She found her way to the kitchens, tickling the pear and making her way through the door before she was stopped in her tracks by a team of elves. "You is a Weasley," one whispered, barely audible. The entire kitchen ceased movement. Elves that held large platters full of food set them down, elves that were clearly on their way out walked back in, and elves that were just entering found themselves aghast at the absence of work before quickly recognizing her.

After a few awkward seconds, Kreacher appeared and took apprise of the situation, quickly making his way to the front of the throng gathered around her. "We is honored to be visited by one so brave, Ginevra Weasley," he croaked and Ginny noticed that his usual scorn for her was decidedly absent. "How may we serve?" At this she stood stunned for a moment before kneeling in front of him to look him more squarely in the face, a motion which cowed the rest of the house elves. Kreacher stood his ground, looking back into her eyes with something resembling empathy or admiration.

She gently placed her hand on his shoulder and said, "Kreacher… I would love some eggs and sausages." In a flurry, the rest of the elves scattered grabbing bowls and flinging eggs and meat around, throwing pans towards stoves and preparing pitchers and pitchers of coffee, milk, and pumpkin juice. Kreacher simply stood his ground, Ginny's hand on his shoulder, and smiled at her. "Thank you for taking care of Harry while I was away."

Kreacher bowed deeply and stepped back, "You is welcome, Ginny Weasley," before returning to work in the hectic pace of the Hogwarts kitchens. Ginny took her plate of food, covered with eggs, fat sausages, buttered scones and toast, and made her way towards the front gates.

She lay herself down in the grass alongside the path to Hogsmeade, gazing up at the stars on what even Professor Sinistra would agree was an exceptionally clear night. The cool night air above her and the warm ground beneath her was comforting and listening as the wind blew across the great divide of the lake gave her a great sense of calm. Hogwarts was safe again, if in disarray, but the wards had come back up and despite the knowledge that she was, for all intents and purposes, prone and exposed on the grassy hill, she felt that she had nothing to fear.

Here, beneath the wide open night sky, there were only her and her thoughts, which at the moment were an absolute mess. She could spend forever here and not be satisfied, because Harry was not with her, and damn him for making her feel this way. At sixteen years old, she was already wound tightly around his little finger… not that she hadn't always been. They had been together – they had three months together – and despite Harry's overwhelming and absolutely exhilarating need to be noble, she knew that he had not left because he did not care, but because he did care and in his twisted little noble mind, that made perfect sense. Waking up in his arms let her know that he still cared, and though love was a very strong word at their age, she felt more than mere affection with him, and she had grown out of her youthful obsession years ago.

She was inevitably moving towards a path that she feared to tread: rebuilding a normal life after all that had happened in the past year. She couldn't do it alone, not after everything that had happened to her over the past year… not now that he came back. She hated that she could tell that she was not herself yet – she couldn't be until she knew how Harry felt about her, about them. She wasn't shut down like she had been that morning; she felt sad, she felt lost, and she felt that her family would only be a fractured image of what it had once been. She felt – she just didn't let herself get overwhelmed, which, at the moment and given the circumstances, felt wrong. She felt like she should be a gibbering mess and that it was in some was wrong of her to be sitting with a platter of food, eating while she waited for Harry. Of all people, he would know how to handle this situation and how to guide her through it… wouldn't he? He would wipe away the tears that would eventually come.

Ginny was not typically the stoic, stiff-upper-lip type – she was tough, certainly, but not ashamed of emotion – but she couldn't let herself fall apart… not yet. She had seen Harry and she knew that he was alive and that he cared about her, but there was much to be done in the meantime. There were things to be said and quite frankly, he owed her an explanation for seeing him dead in Hagrid's arms. She found relief in the knowledge that as the world was righting itself, nothing stood between them at Hogwarts; she would not, could not, be denied her answers. There was nowhere for him to run now, not that he would. Besides, he hadn't even spoken to her parents yet and they would want to hug him and see that he was well.

Her mother would probably gather him, Ron and Hermione together and give them all a lecture on running off to do Merlin-knows-what Merlin-knows-where but her father would pat them on their backs and get more to the point of praising them for their bravery and for what they accomplished before agreeing with her mother's lecture on running off to do Merlin-knows-what Merlin-knows-where. Harry would apologize because Harry had a guilt complex. Hermione would listen and take their words to heart because Hermione respected the Weasleys. Ron wouldn't listen to Mom but would listen to Dad because Ron would feel high and mighty and wouldn't take being yelled at well. Ginny smiled at the thought, setting her plate and silverware aside and running her fingers through the grass.

She was as close to the three of them as anyone could get and considered her insight into their personalities, Harry's in particular, a great compliment to their trust in her. To know Harry – to really know Harry – was to see an exercise in regret, guilt, and shame, and for that, she wanted to hex his aunt and uncle until they wouldn't sneeze for fear of bat-bogeys. She knew Harry would forgive them. He likely already had – he had bigger things to worry about – but she worried about Harry. Come what may, she loved him and that would not change. Even if they wouldn't get back together she would love him as she was allowed, but if they didn't get back together, he had better have a good reason.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the doors to the entrance hall opening. Footsteps drew closer to her and she sat up and turned. Harry came into view after a moment eating a biscuit and he stopped when he saw her. The smile that spread on his face likely matched the one that spread on hers. There was no need to doubt it; she knew they were back.


	4. Unintended

This chapter was inspired by the song "Unintended" by Muse.

Unintended

The elves had been good to Harry; they practically shoved all sorts of sweets into his throat. He finally was able to get a handful of biscuits and make his way, but not before Kreacher told him that Ginny had just been to the kitchens herself. Harry didn't even have to guess where she was. She would be by the lake. She always went there to relax and that was where they walked the night they first started going out. He made his way to the entrance hall and out the door, striding without haste but making as direct a path as possible, stuffing a biscuit into his mouth. He walked through the courtyard and onto the path when he saw her and stopped. She was looking at him and his mouthful of biscuit and she smiled. He felt himself smiling back at her she stood up and made her way towards him.

She stopped right in front of him, her smile still present, but more subdued, and said, "Hello." She put a finger on his lips, silencing him before he could respond, raising her lips to his own. Her kiss was soft and light, but the love it bespoke made him shake for nerves. He dropped the biscuits in his hands and cupped her face, returning her kiss softly. She pulled away after a moment and laid her head on his chest, wrapping her arms around his torso and sighing. "I missed you, Harry," she said. "Are you ready," she asked?

"For what," he responded, absolutely uncertain of what she meant.

"For this," and instantly her hand flashed brutally across his face, leaving a red palm on his left cheek. "What in Merlin's name were you thinking walking right by me to die! You didn't even say good-bye, you great prat!" Harry turned his head back to look her in the eyes, obviously building with guilt. "Yes, I knew you were there. Believe it or not, after a few years of seeing you sneak around under that cloak of yours, I know what you sound like when you're under it! You were off to die and you didn't even say good-bye to me!" Harry looked away, ashamed, "and yes, I'm going to be your girlfriend again. No, I don't care if you have any objections to that, because I know that you love me and believe it or not, I love you! I'm not going to leave you and I'm going to make damned certain that you never leave me again, because I've had it up to here," she raised her hand over his head, "with your bloody noble quests! You are my boyfriend! You are the love of my life! You killed Riddle! You won! Now I want you to get your face back down here so I can suck on it some more, you great handsome git," and with that, she yanked him by the shirt collar and planted her lips on his own again, this time with much more vigor. Her tongue penetrated his lips and after a moment, he threw his arms around her and picked her up off the ground. He returned her kiss with violent fire and began walking the two of them back towards the spot on the hill where she had been sitting before. He set her back on the ground before removing his lips from hers.

A look of clear disappointment spread across her face until she felt his lips on her neck and his gentle ministrations across her back left her feeling weak-kneed. Harry eased the two of them to their knees, still kissing across her throat, occasionally flicking his tongue along particularly sensitive parts. Her hands made their way up his back, one to his head, one to his shoulder, gripping him close to her, but feeling like he could not get close enough. His hands roamed her back, tracing along her spine and moving tantalizingly close to her backside before sliding off to the sides of her hips. She took her hands off him and grabbed his wrists, forcing them back to her tight behind and Harry squeezed her even closer to him, firmly massaging her in rhythm with the motions of his tongue. He drifted down her neck, pausing to breathe her in before dragging his tongue over the exposed edges of her collarbone. Abruptly, he stopped and pulled away from her, "wait… wait… ahh, damn," he said, closing his eyes.

"What is it, Harry," Ginny asked, clearly annoyed. "Your stupid nobility is really pointless right now. I'm very clearly enjoying this and…," she intoned and he flashed his eyes at her, stopping her immediately.

"When I take you," Harry began, very clearly emphasizing 'when', "it will be perfect." Ginny's eyes opened wide at the determination in his voice. "It will be in our bed, there will be no one around to interrupt, there will be no lingering questions about what happens now, and when we make love for the first time," he said, drawing her face up to meet his eyes, still full of fire, but his voice now sad, "it won't be just a shag to take your mind off Fred."

Ginny glared at him and picked herself up, storming back towards the doors. Harry got up and ran after her, spinning her around to see that her eyes were getting red and she was fighting back tears trying to shake him away from her. He drew her to him again, this time holding her firmly but tenderly. He put his arms around her again and she buried her face in his shoulder, shaking.

"It hurts too much, Harry," she stammered. "I don't want to have to think about it. I don't want this to be real. I just want to wake up and discover it's a sick joke. I want to wake up and find out that Fred is having us on and Tonks and Lupin stayed at home and that Colin…," she choked, grabbing his shirt tightly and sobbing into his chest. He sat down on a bench with her still in his arms, rocking her gently.

"I know, Gin… I know," he said, trying to be comforting. "I'm here. We're together and I'm here now."

"But you left me, Harry! You left me three times and I'm so tired of knowing that you care but not being able to feel it!" She beat her fist against his chest still sobbing, "I need more from you! I challenged every dream I've had about us because of this war, but now I can have them again! I can have you! You should be the one I'll always love! Not Dean or Michael or anyone else – you! We deserve each other, Harry, and you've been a git not to realize it!"

Harry let her strike him again and again, each blow feeling like a hot iron on his heart until she wore herself out. He rocked slowly, cradling her in his arms. "Gin, we'll get there. We'll get there as soon as we can, but…," he paused and she picked her head up, looking at him with bloodshot eyes, "but… we are together and nothing can change that," he said shaking his head for emphasis, "but there is work to be done before we can live the life we want."

"Now you're just talking like an old man," Ginny said, with something like a laugh choking out from her sad voice. He kissed her head and rested his cheek on it. Behind them, the door to the school opened and a throat cleared. They turned to see Bill and Fleur smiling at them.

"Alright, you two," Bill asked and Harry nodded for them both. "Good… Harry, I know you've only just gotten out of bed, but McGonagall wanted to see you straight away. Do you need me to get you anything while you're talking to her? Have you eaten yet?"

"Stop acting like your muzzer, Bill," Fleur scolded him. "'arry, when you are done, come in. We will be in ze great hall." Fleur pulled Bill's arm and he closed the door behind him. Harry looked down at Ginny nuzzled into his chest.

"I guess we need to go inside then, Gin," he sighed. He slid his body in her arms so that he could have one arm around her as they walked to the door, but she let him go and he turned back to her, "alright?"

"I just need a moment," she said. "Go see McGonagall. I'll meet you in the hall when you're done."

Harry walked back to her and put his hands on her shoulders, "Gin…" He paused, letting her name hang in the air between the two of them. "I'm coming back," he said finally and kissed her forehead, watching as she began to tear up. "I'll see you in the great hall."

Harry turned once again and left, opening the door and making sure to leave it open behind him, if only as a symbolic gesture. He was certain that she would take the minute she had wanted and it would only serve to be an unwanted distraction to her if he had stayed put. He made his way past the great hall, which despite the late hour was still buzzing with activity, and through the halls to the Gargoyle statue that guarded the staircase to the Headmaster's… Headmistress's office, which hours ago had been knocked over but now seemed to have resumed its duties. Mounting the staircase, he realized how different this felt from his exhausted march that morning, free of lingering uncertainty. Reaching the top, he found the door slightly ajar and pushed through, inspecting the room. Seeing Professor McGonagall behind the desk he so deeply associated with Professor Dumbledore was odd. "You wanted to see me, Professor?"

Professor McGonagall looked up at Harry and made her way down from the desk to the door. She stood before him for a moment with a look of uncertainty on her face, the first Harry had ever remembered seeing, before finally throwing her hands up and pulling him into a hug. "Thank you, Potter."


	5. Sunshine of your Love

This chapter was inspired by the song "Sunshine of your Love" by Cream.

Sunshine of Your Love

Ginny sat in the courtyard on the verge of crying. Harry had said the exact right and wrong thing, if that was even possible. She was scared of losing him again and he seemed to know it, but damnit, why did he have to say it? Why couldn't he have just understood that she hurt enough and just throw her a shag? Why did he have to… oh sod it all. She had been found out – he knew her too well and wouldn't let her have her guard up. In the past three minutes, he had made her face everything she had been afraid to: uncertainty about loving and letting herself trust him again, dealing with Fred's death, and her fear that he would leave her again.

Damn him… why couldn't he have just ripped her shirt off and kept kissing his way along her shoulder like he had been before that damn nobility pushed its way back into his head and why did he have to sound so damn sexy and say 'When I take you' like she was a prize? She brushed her hair back from her face and took a deep breath, letting her eyes dry. In the midst of her frustration and sadness and all-around jumble of emotions, she had to admit that his control over himself was sexy as hell, especially with the look in his eyes that told her he was about to break the door with her back.

Harry had changed so much in the year since she had really seen him last. They hadn't even had an in depth conversation yet, but it was apparent. While the hurt and loss in the eyes of everyone around her was in his eyes as well, there was something new about him – something powerful. When she first saw him, she still saw the uncertain but thoroughly beautiful boy she loved, but when he held her firmly and told her the terms by which she was to lose her virginity… those were not the words of an uncertain boy, but of a man who was comfortable with power and authority.

A fire within her stirred again as she replayed the words in her head; 'When I take you…'. He was awfully sure of himself that he would be her first, but after that display, both of power and tenderness, she would not wish to share that side of herself with anyone else. She hadn't considered it before because she had been Harry's for as long as she had known him, but honestly and truly no one else could match what she had just seen in him. No one else could have tamed her temper the way he had and left her feeling disappointed, guilty, loved, and quite frankly turned on.

Harry was right of course. She had tried, in essence, to use him to forget. She wanted him, there was no denying that, but she had to agree that their reunion had been based largely in passions, not emotions. He deserved better and she was grateful that he knew that she deserved better too. Harry had been wrong about one thing, however; it was not just Fred's death that she was escaping, but his own as well. He had died and her heart had been torn asunder. She had only just come to acknowledge in a purely rational sense everything that had happened; she couldn't be expected to have dealt with it all over the course of one day. And what was wrong with having conflicted feelings about seeing him again, alive and gorgeous, smelling like oatmeal biscuits and kissing her in the most tantalizing ways.

Ginny knew that the time would come, and soon, when they would talk to each other. The result was certain – they were reunited now and, unless she wildly misunderstood Harry, forever. It was a not-so-simple matter of ascertaining where they were now. Was Harry ready for… anything? A relationship seemed out of the question; Harry being Harry would run off somewhere and sort things out on his own until the seas dried up. She would wait for him, she knew, as long as it would take until she was his Ginny once again. She would wait forever, but he had better hurry his delicious arse up – they had been apart too much already.

She stood up and walked back down to the head of the path to Hogsmeade. Over the horizon, she saw the barest line of light. It was getting near dawn, but the lights in the windows of Hogsmeade had yet to close their eyes. The celebrations were still going on and she was sure they would continue to go on through the day. At least Hogwarts was still a safe place to be sad and to feel loss. She turned and walked back to the school, through the door, and towards the Great Hall.

Bill and Fleur sat at the table that usually marked the end of the Gryffindor row and she waved to them as she walked in. The hall was not crowded – most of those present at the battle had already arranged to return to their homes – but Ginny was grateful that those present did not feel the need to call out to her or make her presence known, Neville merely smiling and nodding at her as she passed him with his grandmother. He too had changed so much while she had known him, from a scared boy when she first met him on the Hogwarts Express to an awkward adolescent when he asked her to the Yule Ball to the strong man that led the DA alongside her in Harry's absence. She continued to where Fleur and Bill were and sat opposite them at the table. "Harry's gone up," she said.

"So Ginny," Bill cleared his throat, "how long have you and Harry been an item?" It was so odd to her that Bill would ask that, but then again he was understandably out of the loop. He was already moved on by the time Harry started coming around to the Burrow and had been dating Fleur when she and Harry had been dating.

"It would be a year if he hadn't been a noble prat," Ginny said. "We dated for a while last spring and broke up at Dumbledore's funeral because he didn't want Voldemort to know we were together and hurt me. Didn't matter though… everyone here knew we were together."

"It seems you 'ave rekindled your relationship, Ginny," Fleur commented. "'Arry is a very lucky, man. I zink 'e knows zis as well." Fleur smiled at Ginny peacefully. While Ginny hadn't always gotten along with her, she found herself looking at Fleur as a sister, not an annoyance. Ginny marked the way Bill smiled at his wife, peaceful and eyes full of love, and hoped that Harry would look at her that way, sooner rather than later.

"I've been waiting so long to be going where I finally am going," Ginny said. "I've wanted to be with him since I was four, I've liked him since I saw him on the Platform with Ron, and I've loved him since he rescued me from the Chamber. Years have gone by and now I'm so close to him that I don't really know what to do." Ginny cupped her chin with her hands.

"For the past two years, I've known that we didn't really have a future, and I've known it as a fact. Now that we do, I'm not sure how to handle it. And why does he have to be so perfect? He went from a scrawny boy to a man and damn it, he is sexy!" Ginny was quite certain that she'd said that louder than she'd intended, but any and all intrusive ears could go rot in Azkaban for all she cared. Bill puzzled at the revelation that his 'little sister' was clearly becoming a woman, but smiled broadly at her.

"When the hell did my little sister start thinking of Harry Potter as 'sexy'," Bill asked, smirking at Ginny. Ginny looked into Bill's face, noticing that the smile seemed even wider with the scars on his face, his eyes daring her to answer.

"When I saw that chiseled stomach of his in the Quidditch locker room," Ginny deadpanned. Bill blanched and Fleur roared with laughter. "That v-muscle is just so well-defined and makes you want to…"

"I get the point, Gin," Bill interrupted, shaking his head incredulously. "Merlin, I did not need to know about my little sister's tastes…"

"You deed ask, Bill," Fleur said, chuckling at her husband. Bill shook his head again and put his head down on the table in front of him.

Fleur's laughter subsided quickly though as the doors to the Great Hall opened and there, alone in the doorway, stood Harry. Ginny stood to meet his eye, but again, Harry was mobbed. Ginny sprinted down the row, pushing and shoving to get close to Harry, to let him know she was there, when suddenly a loud bang erupted from the center of the group.

Harry's wand was pointed straight up in the air, but as the crowd began to back away, he put the wand to his neck. "Alright," he said, his voice amplified, "I understand that some of you want to talk to me or have questions, but for the time being, I would appreciate it if you would extend to me the courtesy of some space. Please. I've had a rough few days and would like to spend time with the people I love." As the crowd dispersed, he met her eyes and smiled at her. "Meet me where we first kissed in twenty minutes. Feel free to bring anyone you think should come," and with that, he turned and walked back out the door.

Ginny could only smile at his retreating figure – only the previous morning he had allowed himself to be the center of attention despite his reluctance to ever be in the spotlight. Now, he was setting his terms and they were final. Merlin, he was attractive when he took charge of a situation. Ginny turned to see Bill and Fleur standing a few feet behind her. She walked up to Bill and whispered in his ear briefly before he nodded and led Fleur out of the hall.


	6. Invictus I Want It All

I made this chapter a little longer since Neville isn't going to be a really featured character in terms of plot development. As such, I used two different sources for inspiration, Queen's "I Want It All" and _Invictus _by William Ernest Henley. Also, I've gone back through to give credit to the songs that inspired my chapters. I had thought that naming them the way I did was sufficient, but I seem to have been wrong.

Also, thank you all for your comments, messages and reviews.

Invictus / I Want It All

Neville Longbottom had never and would never consider himself part of Harry's inner circle. Ron and Hermione had been there all along and Ginny, well… Ginny was a special case, wasn't she? It was true that he, along with Luna Lovegood, had joined Harry and the rest when they went to the Department of Mysteries. It was also true that before Harry went off to the Forbidden Forest, he had entrusted Neville with the last quest, as it were. To defeat Voldemort, he had to kill the snake. He did not need to understand why.

When he fell into the clutches of Death Eaters and brought before Voldemort, Neville stood, proud and unconquered, and faced the darkest Wizard in at least a generation, although Grindelwald had the grace to allege that his actions were "for the greater good". Voldemort was insane beyond excuse, reason or justification. Neville stood before Voldemort and declared that he would never join his forces, that his head, though bloodied from battle, would remain unbowed.

Neville knew that he had a unique position in the complete lore of Harry Potter and that though he would forever be a historical detail in comparison to his friend, he was important to the man himself. There was something to be said, Neville knew, for friendship. Neville liked to believe that as Harry and Voldemort were circling each other, the power that Harry had that Voldemort did not understand was Harry's friends. Voldemort did not have friends, merely followers and minions.

It is easy to follow someone out of fear, even if one pretends that they have other motives. After all these years, could the Malfoys still say that they believed in Tom Riddle's agenda, or would it be closer to the truth to say that the little snakes would stand by which ever side offered a greater chance at victory? The alley creepers could be counted on to flip like a coin when they wanted to – the fact that Harry hadn't personally ordered the arrest of Lucius Malfoy and dueled Draco to the death was enough evidence for Neville that they had "stowed the wand" with Harry for the time being. At least Bellatrix Lestrange wasn't a coward. Neville would have killed her himself were it not for Molly Weasley, but in the end he was just glad to know that his parents had been, for lack of a better word, avenged. Had Neville had the opportunity, the words _Avada Kedavra_ would have never escaped his lips; Bellatrix Lestrange would join his parents in St. Mungo's, or more likely that she would be tossed and forgotten in a dungeon cell in Azkaban, lost in catatonia.

He'd thought about that moment for two years, since Harry told him that Bellatrix said you had to mean it. You had to want someone to suffer for the spell to have the right effect. The Cruciatus curse was like an inverse Patronus; the more powerful the emotion, the more powerful the spell… just with opposite effects. Having been subjected to various qualities of the Cruciatus curse over the past year, he could tell who meant it, Crabbe, and who didn't, Greengrass, and the thought weighed on his mind as he spent the year dealing with his emotions. Crabbe was a right sick bastard who he would have paid back as well, if not as much as Bellatrix. Neville reckoned that what he saw happen with Romilda Vane would power a Cruciatus curse against Crabbe quite efficiently. Even though Neville did not personally care for her, no one ever deserved to suffer as she did. He still wasn't certain how he had performed a silent wandless Confrigio spell, but it did not really matter – the explosion that rocked the dungeon stunned Crabbe and Goyle long enough for him to grab the unconscious Romilda and take her to the Room of Requirement until he could get word to Madame Pomfrey.

Bellatrix was a separate case though. Neville could never make himself feel the kind of fury that he felt at Crabbe for Bellatrix. Certainly her crimes were as bad if not worse, but for her, he felt a sort of ancient anger. Not hate, not fury, but a righteous indignation. He was her nemesis, in the dictionary sense: a righteous infliction of retribution manifested by an appropriate agent, in this case, the boy she orphaned grown to manhood. Neville wasn't an adventure seeker, though. Not like Harry at any rate. He would not have sought Bellatrix out, ever. Rationally, he wasn't likely to take her in a duel when she had absolutely no compunctions about… well… anything. He would have lived his life, knowing that at some moment, Bellatrix could have appeared and they would have to finish their story.

Neville sat with his grandmother, vaguely aware that there were other people gathered around him now as well, seeking his attention and interrupting his train of thought. Was this how Harry felt, desperate just to be left with his loved ones? If so, Neville thought, he would never trouble Harry again. Seeing for an instant how he felt, he could not imagine how desperately lonely and frustrated Harry must have been for the past years. It was not to say that he would not enjoy Harry's company as he did consider Harry to be a dear friend, but Harry deserved time with the people he loved most, which would clearly include the Weasleys and Hermione and might extend to DA members, but he did not assume it would. Neville had other things on his mind anyway.

To say that he was uncomfortable with his sudden popularity would be quite understated. His scarred face had given him no small degree of insecurity now that the battle was over. Unlike Bill Weasley's scars, his would heal for the most part. There would be some permanent damage, but he imagined that they would be "character lines". It was slightly disconcerting to come face-to-face with the realization that these people flocking to him did not care about him, only his celebrity. They would not care about Trevor or tolerate his fascination with Herbology; Herbology wasn't a sexy profession, after all.

Neville noticed out of the corner of his eye that Ginny was entering the Great Hall, red-eyed but looking happy. Really genuinely happy – smile to the eyes and everything. He smiled at her and nodded, quite certain that the question she had been asking herself for the past year, 'does Harry still love me', had just been answered in the affirmative. Good for her. Good for them, really. After Harry's display in the common room last spring, it was quite a shock to Neville when they rode back to London in one awkward cabin.

Although Neville would never admit it, he wanted to put on such a display. He wanted the girl to run to his arms and he wanted to kiss her with all the passion he possessed. He did not want the fame and he did not want the glory – he wanted to live his life on his terms with the dignity and respect he was due but no more or less. Neville Longbottom was not a man for compromise – he had stood up to Harry, Ron and Ginny in their first year, after all – but now that it was all rushing to him, he had to admit that wanting it all was very different from having it all. Well… not all. He still did not have the Girl.

"She's very pretty, Neville." Neville broke from his reverie to find his grandmother looking down the row at Ginny. "Quite resourceful too if I recall."

"Ginny's great, Gran," Neville said, smiling at the realization that, not only was his grandmother not disappointed in him, but he did not care if she was or not. "She's a very dear friend." He looked down the row at her, matching the older woman's gaze.

Augusta Longbottom turned to face her grandson, clearly expectantly. "And?"

"And," Neville began, "much as I love Ginny, I don't reckon Harry would be too happy if I were to sincerely proposition his girlfriend." Mrs. Longbottom's eyebrows arched severely when as Neville watched awareness spread through her face. Neville scratched at his cheek, worn with scars, welts, and several days worth of stubble. "I'd hit on her to take the mickey, sure, but Ginny and I don't see each other like that."

Just then, the doors to the great hall opened and there stood Harry, scanning the room before just as quickly he was mobbed by the small crowd of people that were still in the building. Ginny ran up from the front of the hall to try to meet him, but she was too small to push her way through the crowd. Neville looked on in sympathy because he knew that Harry hated the mob, especially now that it separated him from Ginny, and he would not have been able to take that attention himself. His sympathy was very short-lived and replaced by amusement as he watched Harry's wand go over his own head and issue a loud bang.

The crowd eased a bit and Neville watched as Harry lowered his wand, pointed it at his throat, and muttered, "Sonorus."

"Alright," Harry began, "I understand that some of you want to talk to me or have questions, but for the time being, I would appreciate it if you would extend to me the courtesy of some space. Please. I've had a rough few days and would like to spend time with the people I love."

Neville chuckled to himself; leave it to Harry to summarize breaking into and out of Gringott's, breaking into Hogwarts, dying, coming back to life, and killing Voldemort as "a rough few days." Ginny approached Harry and he whispered something to her before turning around and walking back through the door, casting Neville a wink over his shoulder as he left.

Ginny walked towards him and his grandmother and the older woman fussed quickly with his shirt, whispering nonsense about matching him up with Ginny and about finding a woman worthy of a Longbottom. Neville blushed slightly before leaning in, whispering, "I can find my own girl, Gran." He caught Ginny in the corner of his eye.

She walked up to Neville and his grandmother as they were talking quietly, but both turned as she greeted them. "I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Longbottom, but could I borrow Neville for a while? Harry wants some time with friends before everyone has to go home again." Augusta Longbottom smiled proudly at her grandson, patting his hand and winking conspiratorially, and sent him off with Ginny.

They walked out the doors of the great hall and began their familiar walk up to Gryffindor tower. When they were out of earshot, Neville whispered to her, "Thanks."

"For what?"

"Just for thinking of me. I know Harry'd want to see you and Ron and Hermione. I mean, I figured we'd have a chance to grab a butterbeer at some point… but thanks." Neville's voice was low and quiet, and he felt like he had presumed too much.

Ginny stopped in the hallway and Neville stopped a second later. Their eyes met and Neville could see that he had hurt her and was not sure how. "Neville…," she said, "you just don't get it… you are our friend. Harry's. Mine. Ron's. Hermione's. Do you remember what you said in the Department of Mysteries?" Ginny pinched her nose and made a face, "'He's dot alone! He's still god be!'" Neville smirked bashfully, thinking about how unintimidating he must have been to a squad of full-fledged Death Eaters.

"Neville, you have done more for Harry than almost anyone else. I think that if you weren't there, he'd be hurt." Tears welled up in Neville's battered eyes and Ginny quickly threw her arms around him in response. "We love you, Neville. I wouldn't have made it last year without you." Ginny kissed him on the cheek and looked back into his eyes. "You belong with us. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. I am proud to call you my friend and my partner in crime." She smiled kindly at him and he cracked a smile back, rubbing the back of his head, realizing for the first time that through years of clumsiness, he had true friends who saw the Neville he never had the courage to be. "Now come on. We still need to find Luna, Ron, and Hermione."

Neville whipped out his wand and conjured his patronus, a giant toad. "Luna, meet me and Ginny at Gryffindor Tower. If you see Ron and Hermione, tell them to come along." The patronus hopped into the air and vanished in a cloud of silver dust. "That'll save us a search." The two continued walking up towards Gryffindor tower when their quiet conversation was interrupted by a woman's voice yelling from the end of the corridor behind them,

"YOU!"


	7. Whatever You Like

This chapter takes its name from the T.I. song "Whatever You Like"

It was also absurdly long and difficult to write in comparison with my earlier chapters. I apologize to any of you who have been literally holding your breath for this chapter to come out.

Whatever You Like

Harry walked out of the Great Hall, flipping his Holly wand around along his fingers, wondering who Ginny would decide to bring along. He was certain that whomever she chose would be fine – it wasn't like they ran in mutually exclusive circles and she knew that he would take a while to warm up to new people. The worst case scenario was really that she would bring her family along and even then the only uncertainty was Charlie, whom Harry had to admit he did not know very well at all.

Weighing down the pocket of his robe was a rather bulky envelope, as yet unopened, given to him by Professor, no, Headmistress McGonagall from the goblins of Gringotts. Harry was quite certain that he was not ready to face whatever demands the goblins would make of him after utterly embarrassing them and destroying their bank. Monetarily, he wasn't sure that his personal vault would cover the costs he had most certainly incurred in damages, although in some ways it was relieving to know that SOMEONE wasn't going to treat him like he could do no wrong and the goblins were definitely going to squeeze every knut they could from him.

Making his way along the staircases, which fortunately still had not resumed in their tendency to rotate at the most inopportune times, Harry approached Gryffindor Tower to wait for Ginny. The Fat Lady spotted him and swung her portrait open in a grand gesture, as she had been doing for him in the most irritating fashion since his return. He traced the outline of the envelope with his fingertip as he ducked through the portrait hole and made his way to the deep, crimson leather armchair at the back of the room he had missed so much over the past year. Flinging himself into its warm, receptive center, he pulled the long, thick envelope out from his pocket, breaking its seal and pulling out the letter as its contents, three smaller pieces of folded parchment, spilled into his lap.

_Mr. Harry James Potter,_ he read in what was surprisingly smooth script given the goblins tendency to print in very straight lines,

_There are several matters of business between yourself and Gringotts to which you must attend, but we are certain you will agree that the first and most pressing is the matter of your robbery of the Lestrange vault, during which you freed our guardian dragon and did severe damage to the overall structure of the Gringott's bank at Diagon Alley. In point of fact, the only reason you are reading this letter is because a substantial case has been made on your behalf by the interim Minister for Magic, Mr. Kingsley Shacklebolt – under normal circumstances, you would have been killed, decapitated, skinned, and had your head placed on a spike with the other, admittedly less-successful thieves. _Harry swallowed hard at the thought that it took direct intervention from Kingsley to save him from the goblins and their nigh-infinite wrath.

_Mr. Shacklebolt has explained to us his opinion of the necessity of your actions and the storage of a significant dark artifact placed in trust in the Lestrange vault which was not, in fact, property of the Lestranges, but rather of the dark wizard commonly known as Lord Voldemort. _Harry blanched slightly at this; how had Kingsley known that Voldemort had a Horcrux in the Lestranges vault unless… Hermione told him. He breathed a little easier with the thought of Hermione explaining things to Kingsley, but he would have to confirm that fact later, hopefully in the next few minutes. _In light of this revelation and assurances that you did not, in fact, steal any real property of the Lestrange family, we have decided not to view this incident as a theft but will insist that in the future you refrain from any attempt to enter a vault that you do not have either the authority or permission to enter._

_There is also the matter of the severe damage that the bank took during your escape, as well as the matter of the ancient dragon that you allowed to escape. No amount of intervention by Mr. Shacklebolt can change the basic fact that, regardless of your external motivations, you did severe damage that must be restituted; one million, eight hundred seventy-six thousand, nine hundred forty-five galleons to be precise. Mr. Shacklebolt, however, has imposed some very interesting strictures upon the wizards commonly known as Death Eaters and their families, which include some of the wealthiest in Britain. As we are certain you have heard, the vaults of these families are to be emptied and given to you in compliance with the ancient tradition of Wergeld – as they say, Mr. Potter, to the victor go the spoils. The Lestrange vault alone has more than enough to cover your reparations, and so we have decided to dock your spoils from that specific vault, certain that the irony would not be wasted on you. _Harry snorted. It certainly wasn't.

_The next matter of business to which you must attend is the receipt of your war trophies:_

_The Lestrange estate (post-restitution): 25,921,468 Galleons liquid, treasures and valuables estimated at 12,748,209 Galleons, properties listed separately _

_The Malfoy estate: 22,732,666 Galleons liquid, treasures and valuables estimated at 7,234,916 Galleons, properties listed separately_

_The Goyle estate…_

Harry read on, and the list was a role-call who's who of Death Eaters. Rookwood, Crabbe, Nott, Rowell, Avery, Carrow, Gibbon, Yaxley, Rosier; all present, accounted for, and now without a Knut to their names.

_For your convenience, Mr. Potter, we have included a summary of your gains. 149,184,670 Galleons liquid, treasures and valuables estimated at 51,112,209 Galleons, properties valued at 5,020,519,860 Galleons. Should you require assistance in determining who is and is not an appropriate lieutenant, please speak with one of our many skilled financial counselors, more on them below. Your reputation for generosity precedes you, Mr. Potter, but you must take care to reward only those who are truly deserving._

Harry's brain swam. He could not conceive of such riches, but they were his now. And what did they mean by "lieutenant"? He would talk it over with Hermione later – as a matter of money, he would definitely not be talking to Ron about this right away.

_Another matter which must be brought to your attention, Mr. Potter, is the matter of your percentage of ownership in the business "Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes"._ Harry was stunned – he had not ever expected Fred or George to reimburse him for his gift to them. It was exactly that – a gift. _Please find enclosed a note to you from Mr. Fred Gideon Weasley and Mr. George Fabian Weasley. _Harry looked back in the envelope and saw a small piece of paper, folded in three, sealed with a small muggle sticker of a lightning bolt. Peeling the lightning bolt off one of the sides, he opened the letter.

**Dear Harry,**

**We hope that wherever you are, you are well, as well as Ron and Hermione. Since your initial investment of 1,000 Galleons, we have done quite well for ourselves as you well know and as such, we felt that it was time that you saw dividends for your kindness by sharing the profits with you. Upon your reading that last sentence, you gave implicit consent to take stock of your 32% share of the store. We knew that you wouldn't accept it otherwise, so just take it and be done with it, you tit. You may be wondering why you have a 32% share instead of 33% - most likely not, but you may be. Well, there was that constant, pestering 1% that we dealt with when trying to divide the store evenly among the three of us, so we just decided that, since we were doing all the work, we'd each take 34% and stick you with the rest. So there.**

**All joking aside, Harry, we want you to know that you're like another brother to us. We worry about you rather a lot and hope that you are able to listen to Potterwatch on occasion so that you know how many people support you across the country. We also know that you don't necessarily need the money, but we don't know if what you're doing requires money to spend. It seemed only fair to us that, since it was rightly yours, you should have it if you need it.**

**Love from the family. Don't write back.**

**Fred**

**George**

Harry set the note down on the floor in front of him, sniffed, and covered his face with his hands. Fred, with George of course, had gotten one over Harry even after death. He would never have accepted the money and they knew it because they knew him. Now Fred was dead and Harry hadn't seen George in some days. He inhaled and exhaled, slowly calming himself, remembering once again how important it was that he see George and soon. Harry picked the Gringotts letter back up and continued.

_Pending upon your acceptance of your 32% ownership, please find that you will receive regular deposits to your vault from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes as well as a sum which has been held in escrow by Gringott's on your behalf, which as of today, May 3, 1998, amounts to 7,310 Galleons._

_Finally, there is the matter of inheritances. Upon your coming of age as the last living heir, the full Potter family estate is now yours. Please find enclosed a summary of that estate._ Harry found a smaller piece of parchment in the envelope, and scanning to the bottom, found a total of more than 18 million Galleons liquid. He set the paper down, shook his head, and continued reading the letter.

_As you know, you were named heir to the Black family fortune as well, and upon your coming of age, you are now fully vested of it. In accordance with the Last Will and Testament of Severus Snape, you have been named his sole heir. As such, you have inherited 823 galleons as well as his home at Spinner's End, Newcastle with the instructions that said location be untouched on the occasion of his death and that there are items there which you should have. _

Harry knew instantly what they were – Snape had the second page of his mother's letter to Sirius as well as the corner of his baby picture with her in it. Harry became overwhelmed by emotion at how much the man had done for him on account of his mother.

_Finally, certain confidential clauses of vault 2 have been met which name you sole heir of the Peverell family fortune. The Chief Executor of Gringotts may only explain these clauses in person, so we have taken the liberty of arranging a meeting with him at a date to be named at your convenience. The Peverell vault is the second oldest vault in Gringotts and as such is in our deepest dungeon, even beyond where your quest took you, Mr. Potter. We feel confident that even you could not best the security measures in place there, so again, please arrange a meeting with the Chief Executor to be availed of the details of your inheritance rather than attempting to find out for yourself. We may share, however, the amount of liquid assets available within vault 2: 120,067,982,175 Galleons liquid. All other assets must be disposed by the Chief Executor._

_Mr. Potter, it is safe to say that you are the single richest individual in Britain. While the exact totals cannot be given, again due to the confidential nature of vault 2, your combined wealth and properties value higher than five billion Galleons, which we might add is greater than the annual payroll of the entire Quidditch League, including office personnel. Should you require, Gringotts has several financial counselors on staff to help you determine how best to dispose of your new-found wealth. It has been suggested that Mr. William or Mrs. Fleur Weasley, both financial counselors, would be best suited to your unique case given your personal familiarity with them._

_On a personal note, thank you, Harry Potter, for honoring your agreement and for saving my life. You a credit to humans and I believe that if all wizards were as enlightened as you and your companions, the world would be much better off._

_Yours,_

_Griphook_

Harry set the letter down at his side and slid down in the chair until his head rested on the back. He did not particularly like Griphook, but he did not wish him any ill over the course of the madness that unfolded during the past year. All things considered, it was good to know that his reconciliation to Gringotts had occurred on paper and had been painless. The biggest surprise, bigger even than his monumental inheritance, was that Professor Snape had named him in his will. He knew exactly what it was that the man wanted him to have, but it was… good of him. It was more like the Severus that his mother had known – damaged, but good-hearted.

His thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of Ron in the stairwell to the boys' dormitories looking rather like he had when he had eaten Romilda Vane's chocolates. His eyes were unfocused and inattentive and he had a large goofy grin on his face which made him look like he might begin drooling at any second. He walked right past Harry and laid down on one of the couches, facing toward the fire and away from Harry.

As Harry watched in amusement, Hermione came down the stairs after Ron looking equally goofy, slow-footed, and completely inattentive to the fact that Harry was in the room watching the situation unfold. She approached Ron on the couch and when she was within two feet of him, she stopped, looking down at him. Harry couldn't watch any more; "OI!"

Ron looked from Hermione to Harry, "when did you get back, mate? We didn't notice you," Ron said somewhere between embarrassed and furious. Harry only smiled. Hermione sat up, regaining her composure when Harry noticed several bruises across her neck and chest. Harry's eyes widened significantly before he cocked an eyebrow at Ron, smirking knowingly.

"Sorry to interrupt you two, but I definitely didn't want to watch anything… erm… private," Harry said, looking between Ron and Hermione, neither of whom could completely meet his gaze. He smiled briefly before a thought crossed his mind which made him cringe. "Uh… Ron," he said, unsure of himself, "I know that this is probably the last thing that you want to hear right now, but I need to talk to Hermione about something and for the moment I want it to be between the two of us." Ron looked positively affronted and for a moment looked like he had right before he left them only a few months before. "Ron, I promise I will personally tell you and very soon, but to be frank, I need to make use of your girlfriend's brain."

Ron eased slightly at the mention of the word 'girlfriend'. He had always been so insecure about her, but Harry was certain that he had used the right words. Ron stood up and helped Hermione to her feet. Looking at Harry for a moment, he turned to Hermione, "I'll just be upstairs then. Call me when you're ready for me to come back down." Harry and Hermione both nodded, Hermione smiling wistfully at him. Ron leaned over and kissed her cheek before turning and walking slowly up the stairs.

Harry turned to Hermione with an awkward smirk on his face; "Sorry, Hermione."

"No, Harry, one of us should have noticed you," she said running her hands back through her bushy hair. "I'm sorry that you had to see us like that. Now, before you say anything else about that, what is so important that you have to talk to me alone?" Hermione put her hands on her hips; clearly she had spent too much time around Molly Weasley.

Rather than answering, Harry turned around and walked back to the chair and picked up the letter, folded it up and carried it back over to her. He pulled out his wand and muttered _muffliato_ before handing the letter to her. "This." Hermione's eyes poured over the letter, quickly taking account of everything it said. When her eyebrows furrowed severely, he knew she had reached the damages and when they jumped just as severely, he knew she had reached the war trophies. He let her finish reading the letter and watched as her arms fell heavily at her sides and her head fell backwards as though she had just been struck. "Alright, Hermione," he asked as she shook her head to clear it?

"H-Harry, that's… that's…," she seemed at a loss for words for the first time he could recall.

"Hermione," he said, "I don't know what to do with it. I don't even know if I want it. I mean, I don't like Malfoy, but I don't think I want him to be destitute and living on some back corner of Knockturn Alley." An image of Ron thrashing against his chains burned its way into Harry's mind. "Although I definitely don't want him back in that house. I rather think I'd like to burn it to the ground."

"Harry," Hermione began, clearing her throat, "I think you should take Griphook's advice. Talk to Bill or Fleur – they'll know what to do. They've probably worked with plenty of people to do countless things – you're just… uniquely empowered to do… whatever you like."

"Hermione, Ron used to go on about the money I had and it turns out that was a little bit of pocket money for school! What's he going to say now that I'm the richest man in Britain?" Harry pinched his forehead and took a deep breath, "he would get so jealous of me for money and I was jealous of him for his family, but now it's like they're my family too. I don't want them to hate me because of this. I know money has always been…," Harry stopped and looked at Hermione, pleading with her to understand. The money meant nothing to him and even worse he was afraid of losing the only family he had because of it.

Hermione put her hands on Harry's shoulders and rested her head on his own. Speaking very softly, she said, "Harry, I don't think you could ever do anything to make the Weasleys stop loving you. I think you'll need to be very careful with the way you present this to them and I doubt I need to tell you that this is not the time to do so, but talk to Bill, or better yet, Fleur. She didn't grow up with them – she may be a little bit more… open-minded about your new-found wealth." Harry nodded his head under her chin.

"Thanks for listening to me, Hermione. I suppose that's it then. We should probably let Ron come back down so he doesn't feel like we're leaving him out." Hermione just hugged him in response, deeply and compassionately – it was typical of Harry, after all, not to want to keep attention on himself for too long. He had his answer and that was all he wanted. She let him go and walked across the room to the boys' stair to call for Ron. When Harry saw that she was calling but he could not hear her, he quickly muttered _finite_, having forgotten for a moment the spell he had cast earlier.

Ron came down looking disgruntled, but the look faded as his long arm wrapped around Hermione's shoulders as they walked towards Harry. "So, Harry, give me the short version."

"Well, Ron, I… there's some things you've got to…" Harry was cut off by Ron's hand in his face.

"Short version for now, Harry. Unless we need to go off and slay another dark wizard, I have more important things to attend to at the moment," and with that, Hermione blushed slightly and looked away from Harry.

Harry only smiled and rolled his eyes. "Right. Ron, I'm filthy rich."

"I know that, Harry. I mean, you're of age, so you probably inherited some more money from your parents and whatnot." Ron looked exasperated, "is that all you wanted to tell me? Because I've known that was coming; Bill told me you had money in trust with Gringotts until you came of age a few years ago. I just assumed you knew." Harry shook his head incredulously; this was the same Ron who was too proud to accept money for food only a few years before. Apparently, Harry also had a lot left to learn about the wizarding world.

"No Ron," Harry handed him the letter from Gringotts, "I'm filthy rich." Harry watched as Ron's eyes flew down the letter, growing predictably wide as the itemized lists of Harry's newfound wealth became very, very real in Ron's mind.

"Blimey, Harry," Ron said finally, handing the letter back to him. "You're rich! I knew this war would turn out right!"

"Hermione," Ron said, turning his gaze away from Harry. "Would you kindly explain to Harry here how Wergeld works?" Ron looked into her eyes with a bright smile emerging across his face.

Realization dawned across Hermione's face as well and she allowed a small smirk to play across her lips. She turned to Harry; "Wergeld works a bit like a spoils system, Harry. You were the leader of the victorious army, so you get half of everything anyway, but you will have to name your lieutenants specifically as well before it all takes effect." Harry looked at her, not understanding. "Harry, the other half of all that money is divided among whomever you choose. Ron seems to think, and I don't think he's wrong for thinking this, that you might just include the two of us in that list."

Harry's eyes widened as he realized it: he hadn't just become rich himself – they all had become rich together. Ron flung his arms around Hermione and scooped her up into the air kissing her hard. The situation had resolved itself the way it should; as Griphook said, to the victor go the spoils, but what Harry knew that Griphook did not seem to know was that there was not just one victor, but many. Harry could give a tangible reward to those who fought with him.

Faces flashed through Harry's mind as he came to realize just how much help he had had. The D.A.: Dean, Seamus, Lavender, Padma and Parvati, Susan Bones, Terry Boot, Hannah, Justin and Ernie, Colin… Dennis Creevey, Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner and Cho. Neville. Luna. Ginny. The D.A. would all be rewarded. Hagrid. All the professors. All the Weasleys. The Order, or what was left of it; everyone except Dung. Harry had quite a list of people to whom he owed gratitude and who deserved a share of this. The more he thought, however, the more he realized just how much he owed to his friends – more than a share of war treasure, at least.

Harry finally looked up at Ron and Hermione, still kissing, with Ron's hands creeping dangerously down Hermione's sides, and said, "no."

Ron looked over, confused, "no what? What no?"

"Ron, you and Hermione don't get a lieutenant's share. You two, Ginny, Luna, and Neville will share the victor's half share with me. I couldn't have done it without you." Ron stared and Hermione now turned to face him, stunned. "Come on, Ron. You're my best mate. You couldn't have thought I would ever take sole credit, right?"

Hermione reached Harry first and flung her arms around his neck, followed swiftly by Ron, who knocked the group to the ground, "I knew you weren't going to be a prat!"

Ron picked them all up and they sat and talked for several minutes about how Harry could divide the other portions. Harry barely listened, grinning in the knowledge that no matter what, the people he loved would never want for anything ever again.


	8. We Are The Champions

This chapter is inspired by "We Are The Champions" by Queen, but honestly, if you couldn't figure that out, you're not living right.

Also, I'm sure that some of you are floored and amazed by two chapters in one week. Don't get used to it. I'm a grad student. I just happened to have most of this chapter written before the start of term. I promise you that I love to write and that when I get a free moment, I love detailing my vision for the life of Harry Potter... but I'm a grad student.

We Are The Champions

Ginny and Neville spun in place and whipped their wands out. Stepping slowly between the falled fragments of the ruined Hogwarts Castle was Hannah Abbott. She began to run, quickly becoming a charge, right at them before diving into Neville, tackling him to the ground and writhing on top of him. Ginny reached down and flung Hannah off of Neville, her wand aimed carefully at the taller blonde's face. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Are you imperioused or something?"

Hannah was panting with a look that did not convey malice or evil, but what could only be described as determination and confidence. "Weasley, wonderful to see you too, of course. I wouldn't have anyone else lead us in Harry's stead and all, but I've waited two years to snog this beautiful man, and Merlin help you if you get in my way again." Ginny dropped her wand and watched helplessly with as Hannah draped herself over Neville and Neville's hands went from splayed limp at his sides to edging closer to wrapping themselves around her. Ginny looked away for a moment and cleared her throat, not daring to look at them in case they were still kissing, said, "Hannah, Harry is waiting for us in Gryffindor Tower. You could, um… you could come… or continue this later."

Ginny turned after a few moments to find Hannah standing and brushing herself off and Neville getting to his feet. The taller blond girl looked down at Ginny and brushing dust of her robe, said, "Oh… oh, of course. Yes, I'd like to come along… that is," and she looked at Neville with a look Ginny recognized very well, "is that alright with you?"

Neville looked at Ginny as though he didn't realize the question was directed at him. When Ginny turned to look at him with her eyebrow cocked quite severely, though, he realized it was and blushed deeply, sputtering, "Y-yes, ah, um… I-I'd like that very much." Neville reached out to his side and took her much smaller hand in his, smiling with more pride than Ginny had ever seen.

"Neville, have I completely missed something, here," Ginny asked slightly bewildered. "When did you start liking Hannah? I mean, all the times we talked this past year, you never once mentioned any romantic interests."

"Since now, I guess," Neville said, smiling bitterly. "I haven't given much thought to it – never really thought anyone would want to be with me."

Hannah looked at Neville with such concern and compassion that Ginny knew that she was sincere. "Neville, you're wonderful and kind and beautiful. How many times did you take a detention for one of us? You must have had a detention every night since October," and as Hannah spoke, Ginny realized it was true. Neville had taken the trouble for both of them when she conjured up dangerous scheme after dangerous scheme. There was never a night where she saw him before curfew, but she had never thought about it, being too busy worrying about Harry, Ron, and Hermione to think about the sacrifices others made as well. "You never let anyone suffer alone," Hannah said, "and even though you couldn't stop them, you always protected us as well as you could. Harry is the hero and deservedly so, but Neville, you are too, but you're too wonderful to realize it." With those final words, Hannah kissed Neville again, much more tenderly than before, in a beautiful act of that told of months of unspoken gratitude and admiration.

Allowing the new couple a moment, Ginny finally said, "Alright Hannah, come on then." The trio walked together toward Gryffindor Tower, climbing the curving stairs and finally saw the portrait of the Fat Lady ajar with laughter and happy voices coming from within.

"And so I say, 'OI! There's a war going on!' and Ron looks gobsmacked, like he can't decide if he's embarrassed or wants to kill me for interrupting."

"I did not. I just…"

"Of course you did, Ronald. It was very embarrassing getting caught up in the moment like that. Not that I minded it very much."

Ginny, Neville, and Hannah ducked into the common room to see Hermione leaning over to kiss Ron and Harry, Luna, Bill and Fleur showing a variety of reactions. Harry faked disgust. Luna smiled in her ethereal way. Bill leaned over to kiss his wife while everyone else was distracted.

Finally, Hermione's lips met Ron's and he leaned himself in, deepening their kiss. Ginny decided to break the mood, "OI! You bloody hypocrite! You can never complain about me kissing Harry again!" The room looked up and saw her smiling face and Neville and Hannah behind her. Harry stood and crossed the room to her and she felt as though she were watching their first kiss from another perspective. He strode confidently and scooped her into his arms, kissing her with vigor before breaking off as swiftly with a smack of his lips. Howls and wolf-whistles finally registered in her mind as she recomposed herself.

"Merlin, Gin, act like you've never been good and snogged before," Harry whispered down to her. She knew he was grinning by the sound of his voice and when she met his eyes, she was not disappointed. His eyes looked like great green sunlit meadows smiling down at her. Gone was the trepidation and sadness from their reunion – now only peace was found. He kissed her once again before turning his attention to Neville, throwing his arms around his friend and drawing him into a hug. Ginny watched Harry whisper something into Neville's ear and Neville nodded. Harry broke their embrace and patted Neville on the shoulder, who nodded once more solemnly.

Neville led Hannah past Harry and took Ginny's hand as well, indicating to her that she should come with him. They took the large leather armchair Harry had been sitting in, Hannah in Neville's lap and Ginny on the arm next to Ron and Hermione. Harry paced for a moment in front of the portrait hole before stopping and facing his friends.

"I know that there's a lot to discuss and that we're going to be poked, prodded and measured by the Ministry and the press, but while it's just us… we did it," his voice was quiet as though he had just whispered some sacred secret. "The war is over. There's still Death Eaters to round up and there will always be dark wizards… but he's dead. Voldemort is dead and he can't hurt us anymore. That doesn't change what he's done or bring back those we've lost, but we won," his voice rose as he quickened his pace. "I know that the past year at Hogwarts was no bed of roses just the same way that you should know that Ron, Hermione and I did not go on a pleasure cruise. It was a challenge before all of the wizarding world and we didn't lose. There can be no doubting that the terror is over. But I'll be brought up as the figurehead and they'll say that I did this or that as though I did this alone. Before they do… before people come out of the woodwork and say that they alone were trusted with my deepest secrets and that they accompanied me on my quest… thank you. Thank you all.

"Thank you to Neville and Ginny and Luna for continuing the D.A. I have no doubt that we will discuss this more in the days and weeks to come, but thank you for fighting for what you believed in. Thank you for protecting those who couldn't protect themselves. Thank you… for everything," he said with a slight wave of his hand and a gesture that said more than words could.

"Thank you, Bill and Fleur, for protecting us much longer than you should have. I believe that you would do it all over again, but the next time Britain's most wanted criminal knocks on your door, do me a favor and don't answer it." Bill and Fleur both chuckled at the statement. Ginny loved the smile that crept on Harry's face; he had spent so long being serious that it was good to see him smile, even if it wasn't directed at her.

"Hannah," and she looked up, uncertain why he would single her out, never having been one of his inner circle, "I don't know you as well as these others, but thank you as well. You were always there, and I know it, so thank you for being here. Thank you for fighting. Thank you for making a difference." Ginny watched as Hannah looked down into her hands and Neville ran his hand along her arm. She looked to Harry, whose eyes were full of his usual warmth. It was good of him to single her out like that, especially since Hannah did not have the same relationship with Harry that the rest of the group did. So much could be left unsaid, but unlike the others, she would never know Harry's mind unless he spoke it.

"I know that our lives change from now on, and that I'm going to be sent up as the new Dumbledore or some nonsense. Never feel like you weren't important to this fight. Never let anyone tell you that you weren't brave or you didn't do anything. You are a member of Dumbledore's Army. No one can ever take that from you. That coin in your pocket means more than any words ever will. Don't let this change you. I hope I don't let it change me. I have a feeling though," his eyes bored into Ginny's, "that you lot wouldn't let me do that anyway."

Ginny smiled at Harry; she most certainly wouldn't let him change. Not one bit. He was too good to be true as he was. She stood up and walked up to Harry, leading him back to the couch to sit with his friends. She watched as Hannah teared up and hugged Harry and he awkwardly patted her back, looking around at everyone else, entirely unsure of how to respond. There was her Harry, once again; an awkward teenager who just so happened to be the savior of the world.

"So, Ginny," Bill said, smoothly changing the subject. "Have you heard anything about what's been going on outside?" Ginny, in fact, had not, which quite surprised her. Neither her father nor Percy had mentioned anything when she saw them an hour before; had something happened that they did not know about? Had Bill left the castle? Ginny shook her head in the negative and Bill continued. "Well, Kingsley's been named interim minister because he was the highest ranking MLE official who could be proven to have no ties to..." Bill stopped and exhaled, "Voldemort. But you probably knew that. Well, anyway, Dad and Percy have both been promoted. You were there when Dad got it, but Percy got put through the ringer for it. Had to prove he wasn't evil, just following orders."

"Well, of course he was just following orders," Ginny snapped! "Percy doesn't have it in him to be evil. He may not like it, but he is a Weasley, after all." Bill put his hands up as if to say 'don't hex the messenger'. "Sorry," she sighed loudly, "go on."

Bill scratched at one of the long scars on his face and watched over Ginny's shoulder as Harry was chatting quietly to Neville and Hannah. "Did he tell you about spending time at our cottage?" Ginny's jaw set and her eyebrow raised, twitching. "I'll take that as a no. It was last week – they apparated in and they were all very injured. Dean and Luna were with them, and so were Ollivander and a goblin from work." Ginny's face relaxed before shifting into a look of concern; nothing had been kept from her – it had just been too soon to get into details. That didn't change the fact that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been living very dangerously as well.

There were times over the past year where she imagined them on glorious quests, romanticizing the peril as though it were St. Catchpole riding out against the Devon Wyrm. She, on the other hand, had been at Hogwarts, where danger was real and constant. The Carrows. The Slytherins. Snape. She had somehow imagined that his year had been full of daring escapes and swashbuckling duels with Death Eaters. It must have been very bad indeed for Harry to go to Bill's rather than the Burrow.

"They stayed for a few days and healed up," Bill continued, "and Harry talked to Ollivander and Griphook quite a bit in private. Fleur didn't appreciate being asked to leave any room in our house, I can assure you." It was clear from Fleur's face that Bill was being kind in his description.

"Eef Grip'ook ever speaks to me in zat manner again," Fleur said menacingly, "I weel…," Fleur's face screwed up in a way Ginny had never seen before, but hoped to never see again. Her face became very white and there seemed to be a strange radiance around her, as though her body were luminescent. Suddenly, her face changed as though she had suddenly donned a theatre mask and she began to shout, "ca me fait chier!" Bill tried to put his hand on her shoulder, but she slapped it away. "Nique ta mere, con! Merde! Cet goblin peut se casser. J'espère qu'il va se faire enculer par 'Agrid." Bill put his hand on her shoulder again and this time she did not remove it. He whispered in her ear and her face eased noticeably. Ginny looked around and saw that everyone was captivated by the scene, but she could not find the words to either change the subject or bring it to a conclusion. "Oui, je sais."

Fleur turned to look at the rest of the room, "je m'… I am sorry. I zeem to 'ave lost my temper." No one seemed to be able to find the words to say until Luna spoke up.

"It's quite alright, Mrs. Weasley. I've always been curious to see what a Veela really looks like. Even though you are not full-blooded, it was still quite impressive." Fleur smiled genuinely at Luna. It was perhaps the perfect thing for anyone to say as Luna seemed to completely ignore the fact that she had just heard a rant in French.

"Bill, what did she just say," Ron chimed in.

"Nothing that needs to be repeated, Ronnie," he said holding Fleur close to him, calming her. "Nothing that needs to be repeated."

Ginny looked at Harry, who seemed to be distracted and she elbowed him in the ribs. "Alright there, Harry?"

He smiled his easy smile, his eyes twinkling, "yeah. Yeah, I'm just fine." She knew what he meant and all the things he hadn't said within that simple statement. He was home, safe and with the people he loved. Her mother and George were still… unavailable… but for the most part, people seemed to either be mourning or celebrating. It was fair that they celebrated for the moment – they would mourn later. Her mother would celebrate later when she was ready. Her heart wept for George, though. He would never be the same – the only question was how hard would he fall when he did, and he most certainly would if he hadn't already, and how well could he get back together?

Harry put his arm around her, snaking along her shoulders and running his fingers along the base of her neck as they passed. She leaned into him warmly and took comfort in him. She turned to look for Hannah and Neville, but they were talking quietly in an armchair as she lay across his lap between the armrests.

The sunrise peaked up through the windows of the common room and Ginny knew that the world was righting itself before her eyes. Harry was back and holding her again. Ron and Hermione appeared to finally be a couple. Neville found what could become love. Bill and Fleur were as sweet as ever. Luna was surrounded by her friends and Ginny was certain that she was content without a romantic partner at the moment. Harry was right. Things were just fine.


	9. Omerta

This chapter is inspired by the song "Omerta" by Lamb of God as well as my desire to see certain characters when they've finally fucking had enough.

Omerta

Harry led his little group out of the Gryffindor common room, leaving Bill, who wanted to show his wife a very interesting tapestry in the boy's dormitory. Stepping out into the winding halls, Harry's stomach roared loudly and he stopped abruptly, causing everyone else, all of whom had largely been going where Harry went, to stop just as suddenly and look at him. After a moment's awkward silence, Harry finally said, "bugger, I'm hungry. I haven't eaten more than a few biscuits since I woke up." He turned to Ron, eyes wide and excited, "I bet the elves would make us a fry-up." Ron's face brightened substantially as his eyes glassed over.

Harry leaned over to Ginny's ear and whispered as softly as possible, "_when I go, run as fast as you can."_ Harry took her hand and began to walk again, smoothly running his fingers over the back of Ginny's hand, when very suddenly he took off running, Ginny taking off instantly after him. He could only hear their footsteps for a moment until he heard the heavy sounds of Ron's long legs propelling him down the hall after them with a flurry of feet coming after. He kept running until he reached the steps where he wrapped his arm around the small column and hoisted himself up onto the banister, sliding down the smooth, flat marble surface.

Ginny's footsteps were quick chops as she could not do more than take each step as fast as possible, but suddenly the heavy footsteps caught up with Harry as he reached the first landing of the staircase. Harry slid off the banister and stopped, turning to see what Ron would do, Ginny quickly catching up with him.

They looked together up the stairs, but could not see Ron anywhere. Then they heard Hermione's voice echo from the hall upstairs, "Ron, NO!" followed by the sound of Ron's heavy feet running. He appeared suddenly at the top of the stairs before he flung himself through the air, his legs pumping as though they were still running and his arms windmilling as though he were swimming. Harry grabbed Ginny and moved back to the wall just in time for Ron to land, heavily but smoothly, approximately where they had been standing a moment before.

Neville appeared at the top of the stairs, followed by Hermione, Hannah, and Luna. "Ron, that was bloody wicked," he called out. Hermione dashed down the stairs while Ron slowly straightened himself out, most likely feeling some soreness from his landing. When she reached him, she put her arms around him, "Ron, what on Earth were you thinking? You could have seriously hurt yourself. Honestly, I…" She was cut off by Ron's lips pressing hard against hers. They kissed very boldly for a moment until Ron broke the kiss of and rested his cheek on the top of Hermione's head.

"I'm fine, Hermione. But thank you for your concern."

Harry smiled at that and saw in his periphery that Neville was leading the other two girls down the stairs to meet them. Harry turned to him, saying, "Fun as that was, I think Hermione will have our skins if we try that again. Let's just walk the rest of the way." Neville just smiled and nodded – there was no winning with an angry Hermione; it was best to give her exactly what she wanted.

Harry led off again, Ginny at his side, and the group talked about everything and nothing in particular:

"Harry, indulge us: what DOES a golden snitch taste like?"

"Neville, is there a way to grow devil's snare out of doors as a home defense?"

"Oh really, Luna? The what the hell does a Snorkack look like?"

"Hannah, which painting is it that opens to the Hufflepuff common room? I must have snuck down to the kitchens a hundred times and I couldn't tell you."

Harry had to admit it was the most relaxed he had been in some time. No more fights, no more trouble, no more worries. Approaching the doors to the great hall, he smiled; he had friends with him and he was about to eat. As he pushed them open, he looked at Ginny with a wonderful feeling in his chest – a feeling nothing in the world could replace.

"Mr. Potter! Harry!" multiple voices called out at once. Harry looked from Ginny to the Great Hall to find it full of reporters. Flashbulbs erupted around him, blinding him and sending him reeling into Ron's arms behind him. A familiar brogue called out over the din, "Oi, you leeches! Let the man through!" Seamus. Good old Seamus. "Harry! You alright mate?" Harry felt a hand on his shoulder and shaking his head to clear his vision, he saw Seamus in front of him looking concerned with Dean standing behind him, blocking the cameras with his long body.

"Better now, I suppose," Harry said sardonically. "When did they get here?"

"Been just a few minutes. Me and Dean came down from the Room of Requirement to get some breakfast and then they just started pouring in after." Harry nodded. Kingsley had warned him that eventually the press would be involved. He imagined that it was Kingsley's doing that he had a whole day to himself in the first place.

Ron propped Harry back on his feet and then moved around Seamus to stand next to Dean, blocking the cameras from catching Harry. Neville quickly joined them and Harry quickly realized just how big his friend had become watching as Neville stood like a human wall, strong, broad and immovable.

"Mr Potter, is it true that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is dead?"

"Mr. Potter, did you really defeat the Dark Lord?"

"Harry, are you a candidate to be the new Minister for Magic?"

The last question made Harry choke with laughter it was so ridiculous. He was seventeen years old and people were asking if he would be the new Minister. It was unconscionable. Harry turned to leave, shaking his head. He would just have Kreacher bring food back up to the common room – the press couldn't come there.

"Do you blame yourself for the deaths caused by this battle?"

The words made Harry stop. Ron put his hand on his best friend's arm, but Harry yanked it away. He knew that voice. Rita Skeeter. Ginny put her hand on his back and leaned in, whispering in his ear. Ron finally got an arm around Harry's shoulder, giving him a small jostle of consolation.

"Ah, hit a nerve, have I," she continued? "Come now, Harry, so many dead on your behalf and here you are gallivanting about with your friends? One would think they would have learned their lessons by now. Look at what happens to people close to you. Dumbledore was your mentor - killed by Death Eaters. Sirius Black, your godfather - killed for his connection to you. Why, one could say that goes all the way back to your parents! Is there some ancient magical curse or prophecy as yet to be revealed, Harry? And now look at them! Those two have lost a brother because of you, Harry, and here they are with you as if they've learned nothing! 'Potter Curse Continues!' sounds like a good…"

Seemingly from nowhere, a fist connected with the side of Rita Skeeter's jaw, and another crushed her glasses into her nose, shards from the lenses falling over her eyes. A small hand grabbed the witch's hair and drove her head down into a raised knee. Harry turned to see a small figure kneel, straddling the reporter, driving fist after fist into her face. Harry slowly walked towards her, brushing her bushy hair aside as he put his hand on her shoulder.

The flurry stopped, and Harry looked over the small woman's shoulder at the damage she had done. Rita's face looked like it had been smashed by a giant's club. Blood flowed freely from her every orifice as Harry brought the young witch to her feet, pulling her away from the woman she had brutalized. Hermione looked exhausted and punchdrunk and Harry had never guessed that her prodigious magical skill was augmented by an obvious familiarity with muggle fighting. "If you so much as look at any one of us again," she bellowed at the reporter, "I'll fucking kill you. You should have learned your lesson years ago. You gave me your word and you broke it.

"Harry just saved England and you have the audacity to try to discredit him? There are consequences for everyone's actions, Ms. Skeeter – karma. There was a time in the muggle world where, had you written half the drivel you put out as true, you would have been dealt with. So let me tell you right now that in about thirty seconds, you're going to lose consciousness. Someone will take you to Madame Pomfrey or to St. Mungo's and you'll be treated. You might even make a full recovery. But while you can still hear me, hear this," and Hermione's voice rose dramatically louder than it had been, "that if you ever, ever trouble Harry, Ron, Neville… fuck it… if any of you bother us again, AND YOU KNOW WHO WE ARE, we will deal with you. _I _will deal with you.

"You owe your sniveling, clawing lives to a bunch of teenagers who had more sack than the lot of you. You owe your lives to schoolchildren and you don't even have the pride to show gratitude?! What is wrong with you?" With that, Hermione turned her attention back to Rita. She looked down at her for a moment, eyes full of spite and fury, and she punched her once, right between the eyes. "Fucking bitch."

Harry became very aware of the crowd standing around them. Ministry officials, families, and members of the wizarding press stood aghast at the sight before them, and here stood Hermione, hands soaked and dripping with blood. No one moved, still too struck by the scene that had just played out. "Hey Dean," a voice called out finally. "Did you see anything?"

After a moment's silence, another voice, "Not me, Seamus. You Neville?"

"Didn't see anything other than this beautiful afternoon sky, myself. Did anyone actually see anything," Neville called out in a voice that belied the thinly veiled challenge within. No one responded. Neville winked at Harry and led the DA up the stairs to the Gryffindor common room. The DA had been the criminals of Hogwarts over the past year, but now it seemed to be its mafia, code of silence and all. To mess around one was to mess them all around. Problems would be dealt with internally. They had their own rules – everyone else just had to learn them.

Harry put his arm around Hermione's shoulders and held her close while Ron and Ginny approached. Through damaged halls and corridors, the troop walked enjoying each other's company as they had not been able to do all year. As they reached the portrait hole, a cat patronus stopped Harry's momentum.

"Mr. Potter," the cat said in Professor McGonagall's clipped tone, "to my office immediately." The voice left no room for discussion and Harry didn't need to guess what she would want to talk about.

Harry made his way up the stairs to Professor McGonagall's office for the second time that day, and as he reached the top of the stairs, he heard the smooth tones of Kingsley Shacklebolt, which made Harry very nervous. Minister or no, Kingsley was a man for whom Harry had a great deal of respect on a personal level. While he hated to disappoint Professor McGonagall at all, it would probably be worse in the long-term to disappoint the Minister for Magic

Opening the door, Harry saw Kingsley and Arthur Weasley talking to Professor McGonagall, who stopped speaking when she saw him enter the room. Kingsley and Arthur turned and looked at him with amusement. Harry dropped his head and shook it. They weren't mad at him? He had practically inspired a brutal assault.

Harry raised his head and met Arthur's eyes and a look passed between them that needed no words. Mr. Weasley ruffled his already untidy hair before stepping away to allow Kingsley his piece. "Thank you, Harry," Kingsley said, his baritone voice cracking slightly.

Harry was incredulous. "Do none of you realize what just happened? Rita Skeeter is probably on her way to St. Mungo's right now and NO ONE wants to yell at me? I mean, Professor, you should because it's your school. Minister, shouldn't you be upset with how I just handled the press? Mr. Weasley… you're the closest thing I have to a father! Shouldn't you be disappointed?"

"Have a seat, Harry," Kingsley said after a moment, gesturing to one of the large armchairs in front of the desk. Harry did so, Mr. Weasley sitting next to him, Professor McGonagall taking her place behind the desk and Kingsley leaning on one corner of it.

"Harry, we know what happened in the great hall, and while I do happen to know that you did nothing wrong yourself, you may trust that both Ms. Granger and Ms. Abbott will be speaking with Professor McGonagall… eventually. Right now, it's honestly not a priority. I was actually going to ask you how you wanted to handle the press for the next few weeks, but I suppose you've taken care of that yourself."

"And Harry, why on Earth would you think anyone would be mad at you? You saved all of our lives," Mr. Weasley chimed in. Harry became very grim as his mind instantly shot to Colin, Remus, Tonks, and Fred. Mr. Weasley's voice became very stern, "and I know what you're doing to yourself and you can stop it right now, Harry. I love my son and I miss him terribly, and I will continue to love and miss him as long as I live, but you did not kill him, Harry. Voldemort did. This war did. You did not start it, Harry, you ended it." With that, he pulled Harry into a tight hug and Harry began to choke back tears.

"Let it go, son."

When Harry heard the words, he could not control himself. His floodgate opened and all the sadness and fury and uncertainty that he felt about the past year rushed back through his mind. Tears spilled quickly from his eyes and he could feel Mr. Weasley's shirt dampening from them. No words were spoken while Harry cried, for how long he was not certain, but he felt Mr. Weasley's hand on his back, supporting him, loving him the way he thought his own father might have, and he drew his strength back from it. He sniffed a few times and sat back up, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

"Right," he said, "now that I've embarrassed myself, is there anything else you need?"

Mr. Weasley was taken aback, "Harry, there's no reason to feel…"

Kingsley quickly cut him off, "we have some minor details to take care of at the moment – signing Voldemort's death warrant and taking you off the most wanted list to be going on with, but the fact is, Harry, that a day has passed with no official statement from the Ministry about what has happened. I have no intention of marching you out and traipsing you about in front of the press, but you and I will need to make an appearance and make a statement confirming the defeat of Voldemort and the abolition of the old ministry. Their paradigm is broken; an example must be set."

Harry nodded resignedly. He knew somewhere within him that this would have to happen; people would want their answers and he was the one that had them. "I can't reasonably censor you, Harry; I'd dare say you could take my job from me right now. Just… there are things to be learned from this. I would appreciate it if you would tell us what happened before we make any public announcement."

Harry thought it strange that Kingsley would even suggest that he would take the Ministry as the only thing Harry wanted to take at the moment was another nap. He sat in thought for a moment before pulling his wand out from his robe and lazily summoning a patronus, which stood looking at him for a moment before it ran, dissipating in front of the door. Kingsley looked at him curiously.

"I just called for a few people," Harry explained, "They'll hear it eventually anyway and I don't want to tell this story very many times. I'd rather they heard it all from me, Ron, and Hermione." Harry looked Mr. Weasley in the eyes, hopeful that he would understand that he was still so very tired. Arthur, in turn, turned to Kingsley, who just shrugged.

"I understand, Harry," Kingsley said, "We'll make this as painless as possible for you… just please bear in mind that there will be certain aspects of this that will need to be under the highest level of confidence. If you're about to tell me what I think you're about to tell me about Voldemort, that sort of knowledge must be contained as much as possible. Some words are meant to dwell in darkness, I believe."

The group made conversation for a few minutes while waiting for Harry's friends, and after a few moments, the new group arrived, Mrs. Weasley holding Ron's arm with Hermione at his other side and Ginny and Luna both flanking Neville. Professor McGonagall transfigured the armchairs into couches inviting everyone to sit down, leaving the dais to Harry. He caught Hermione's eyes and raised his eyebrows significantly.

"Ron, Hermione, Kingsley has asked me to fill him in on what happened to us over the past year so he can make an official statement. Mrs. Weasley, Neville, Luna, I've asked you all to come up because I believe you deserve to know what happened as well. If you three wouldn't mind," he indicated Ginny, Neville, and Luna, "I would appreciate it if you'd share what you can about Hogwarts… I'm can't make you or anything, but I think we might as well just get all this out now before we try to get back to normal."

Neville and Luna nodded, but Ginny looked down at her hands. Harry could only imagine the things she had been forced to endure because of their connection. Harry looked back at Ron and Hermione, who both nodded to him before he took a deep breath and sat down on the floor. "Alright then, here we go."

When Harry finished some hours later, he looked over at the people assembled in front of him. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looked like they might cry at any moment. Hermione's explanation of Horcruxes drew gasps. Harry had not expected Ron to admit that he had left before Christmas but could see that he felt relieved that he had, at least until Ginny had tried to hex him. Harry quickly cast a shield between them; "You can yell at him later, Ginny. We have to finish this first," he told her solemnly, seemingly defusing the situation. He realized after a moment that he had done so wandless and silently and had mixed feelings about the revelation. He hoped that in the midst of Ginny's tirade and the stir it caused that no one else had noticed.

People were now talking among themselves, but Kingsley pulled Harry aside at the back of the large office. "Harry, I wanted to tell you how impressed I am with you," Kingsley said, suddenly devoid of the easy confidence that Harry had always considered a trademark of Kingsley's character. "I…," Kingsley sighed, seemingly conflicted.

"Harry, I have no right to ask you what I am about to ask you and for that I am sorry. I know you have a tumultuous relationship with the Ministry, but... but Harry, I need your help. The Ministry is decimated. The Aurors are practically an endangered species. Anyone of character and value was practically forced into hiding in the past few months after Thicknesse took over."

Harry looked at Kingsley with sympathy but an increasing unease. Fudge and Scrimgeor had both asked him to become the Ministry's poster boy and promise peace and prosperity. Now, here stood Kingsley Shacklebolt, his colleague and compatriot, seemingly taking the same tack as his predecessors. Harry decided to hear him out before turning him down – he owed Kingsley that much.

"Harry, you have unprecedented public support. If you were the Boy Who Lived when you were an infant, you're the Man Who Won now. I… the Ministry…" Kingsley stopped and recomposed himself. "Harry, I would like to officially offer you a position as an auror."

"What?" Harry said louder than he had intended, drawing attention from the rest of the room. He hadn't expected that at all. "I mean, Kingsley – by the way, do I call you Minister Shacklebolt now – I'm only 17. I don't even have my N.E.W.T.'s. I'm hardly qualified, wouldn't you say?" Harry didn't want to be a Ministry mouthpiece pulled out for show, but the possibility of being an auror… that was what he had wanted, really ever since he met Kingsley.

Kingsley only laughed in response, gasping as he said, "Harry, you just defeated the darkest wizard of this generation, possibly the darkest in English history. I daresay you are uniquely qualified to be an auror. Well, you, Ron and Neville," he said gesturing to the couch where the other two sat, watching the scene unfold. "Merlin, the three of you wouldn't even need training. I mean, you were hidden for over eight months, I daresay you could pass your stealth qualifier. Neville's braver than half my present staff. You could learn protocol on the job…" Kingsley's voice became increasingly quiet as he continued speaking to himself.

Harry looked at Ron uncertainly, hopeful that Ron might have the words Harry clearly did not. Finally, it was Neville who looked up to meet Harry's gaze, saying "I'll go if you two do." Kingsley whipped his head up to look at Neville, then to Ron, then Harry, hope clearly written across his face. Harry sighed and shook his head. "Ron, what do you want to do," he asked.

Ron snorted. "Now after seven years you'll ask my advice? Mate, just make up your mind so Hermione can plan the next forty years of my life."

Harry saw Hermione beam behind Ron and looked at Ginny, still unsure. After all, if he had his way, she would be a part of his life from now on – the biggest part. After a moment, she nodded once and smiled. Harry sighed and turned back to Kingsley; "Okay, we're in."

"Thank you Harry. I can't tell you how excited I am to get to finally work with all of you. And for the record," he said looking back at the rest of the room, "I will always just be Kingsley. There will be times when I will have to be 'Minister Shacklebolt', but who's kidding who here? I'm an auror at heart with a hell of a job to do; I'm too busy to get hung up on pretense. Besides, I dare say that I like you lot a hell of a lot more than I like most people at the ministry."

Mr. Weasley laughed out loud and Kingsley smiled widely at him. Harry could only imagine what the two of them had talked about over the last year – presumably they had similar distastes; Mr. Runcorn and Ms. Umbridge, for instance.

"There's something else as well, Harry, and for you as well, Ron and Neville," Kingsley said very seriously, taking a seat on McGonagall's desk while Ron and Neville approached. "Boys, you should know that in my first year on the job, I was assigned to a young auror. He wasn't a hotshot or fancy, but he was a family man and loved seeing the world being put to right. A few months in, he tells me that he hasn't been training a partner, he's been training a replacement. His wife was pregnant with his third and he decided that he was going to transfer to a safer office. I was quickly assigned a new partner who was from my training class and Mad-Eye had my partner and me supervise two trainees who were coming into the ranks together.

"After the first year though, we had to pass them off to another trainer because my partner, bless her soul, had fallen in love with one of the trainees. They were soon married and eventually had a son and the very next day, the other trainee's wife had a son as well." Harry's eyes grew as the revelation washed over him, and he looked at Neville who was listening intently with the same expression on his face. "My partner was known as Alice Hornsby when I met her, but when she married, she married Frank Longbottom. He had joined the Aurors with a classmate from '77 by the name of James Potter." He reached into his robes and pulled out four very old unpolished badges with names written on them. Auror Potter, two Auror Longbottoms, and finally, the oldest read Auror Weasley.

Harry looked up at Ron in shock and the two quickly turned to look at Mr. Weasley who merely smiled serenely and nodded. "Boys, much like with Hogwarts, your names have been on the books since you were born. You are born to fight for what is right, and while anyone would agree that you've done your part, the fact is that there is still evil out there. To see all three of you following in your fathers' footsteps whether you knew it or not… boys, let me assure you that there is no one better suited to lead the next generation of Aurors than you three. I have the fullest confidence in all of you." Kingsley picked up the badges and tossed them one by one to their new respective owner. Neville. Ron. Harry. "Pin them on, boys. The paperwork can wait until later, but for now, by the powers vested in me as Minister of Magic by Her Royal Majesty, Queen Elizabeth, I hereby appoint you, Harry James Potter, Ronald Bilius Weasley, and Neville Francis Longbottom, Aurors with all the privileges and responsibilities there unto appertaining."


	10. The Boys Are Back In Town

This chapter is named for the song "The Boys are back in town" by Thin Lizzy and will primarily serve as a precursor to the next chapter which I am still writing.

Also, if anyone has a song suggestion for a chapter, I'm open to ideas. Let me clarify that I'm not taking requests, but if you would like to help the production of this story in a meaningful way, suggesting songs to inspire me would be great.

The Boys are Back in Town

Although the afternoon passed without incident (and with a long nap in the common room, Ginny curled under his arm), the evening of May 3rd was more raucous than the evening before it, if that was possible. The whole country now knew that Voldemort was indeed dead and that Harry Potter had saved them all. In fact, the only place that did not seem to be actively celebrating the victory at Hogwarts was Hogwarts itself. Even the village of Hogsmeade was alive and active, so much so that the bustle was audible from the castle.

Harry felt jealous. He sat in one of the armchairs in the Gryffindor common room, alternatively listening to Ron and Hermione discuss their future – Hermione, clearly, would not forego her final year of education and certainly would take her N.E.W.T.s, thank you very much – and staring out the window, imagining what it would be like to have a normal life, where he could celebrate such occasions. Outside, Hogsmeade seemed to be a living entity unto itself, shifting and moving.

Suddenly, the portrait hole burst open and Neville and Hannah came in together, visibly intoxicated. "Harry!" Neville cried out, much louder than was necessary, "Been looking for you! Haven't we Hannah?" Hannah nodded much more intensely than was necessary, although Harry did notice a rather large bruise on her neck. "Been looking for you, Harry! And you two too! Two too. Tutu," and with the word having been spoken, Neville pirouetted much less gracefully than he had certainly intended. "Ab's sent us to fetch you lot… 'n Ginny 'n Luna as well. He's been askin' if you were around. How you were and where you could be found. He's set aside his upstairs room just for us! Dumbledore's Army only!" Neville's voice became much louder than necessary once again as he shook Hannah in his arm much harder than he had clearly intended, as she began to wobble in his grasp.

"Would be great though if the others could come though," Hannah added, looking wistful, "but Ernie is home now and Justin's probably just getting back from wherever he was hiding."

"An' Dean and Seamus too," Neville said. "They went back to the Finnegans while Dean sorts out his family. I think the Patils are still around, though."

"Anyone know how Lavender's doing," Ron asked, concern written on his face. Harry looked at Ron, arching an eyebrow and flicking his eyes toward Hermione. Hermione, to Harry's surprise, seemed equally concerned. "Oh come off it, Harry. I'm just wondering if she needed to go to St. Mungo's or not. Greyback, remember?"

Harry did remember. Hermione had blasted the werewolf off of Lavender's back, but who knew how much damage she had taken up to that point. "You know, Neville, I also seem to recall a particular device that was used against my wishes extremely recently that may or may not have the ability to gather the requisite DA members."

"Yeah well…" Neville began before stopping very suddenly. After a moment, the haze cleared from his eyes and he smiled brightly. "The coin, Harry! I can't believe I didn't think of the coin!" Harr grinned brightly as Neville took the coin from his pocket and swished his wand over it. Harry immediately felt his own coin heat up and he drew it from his pocket, reading its message:

_Victory Party at the Hog's Head. Get here now, you sods._

Ron snorted behind Harry, clearly having read the message as well, and Harry was sure that Hermione was smiling behind him. Harry took out his wand and summoned his patronus, staring at it for a moment before it disappeared.

"Is everything alright, Harry," Hermione asked uncertainly.

Harry turned to her and smiled sadly. "Yeah, I just sent my patronus to Lavender. If she can respond, I'm sure she will."

Ron cleared his throat to break up the awkwardness that was threatening to settle on the group. "Well lads, I do believe we should go get ourselves sorted out," Ron said, throwing his side-long smirk down at Hermione. "After all, we can't be seen in public looking shabby. We're heroes now." And with that, he popped the collar of the school shirt he had been wearing and walked to the staircase.

Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry, but startled when he and Neville began to walk to the stairs as well. "You can't be serious, Harry. Getting dressed up? You don't have any clothes like that. In fact, you're probably still wearing the same pants as yesterday."

Neville shook his head while he passed Harry on the staircase, patting him on the shoulder. Harry's face flushed with embarrassment, but he wouldn't be dissuaded. "Tell you what, Hermione," Harry said, puffing his chest out, "you just find Ginny and tell her to start getting ready." With that, Harry darted up the stairs, taking two at a time, leaving Hermione and Hannah to shrug at each other.

Harry entered the dormitory to find Neville going through his trunk for better clothes and Ron sitting on his bed looking dejected. "Mate, I don't have anything. WE don't have anything." Ron's shoulders slumped and his long arms sank past his knees. "It's a good idea and all, Harry, but how can we dress the part without the clothes."

Harry smiled at Ron, who, for all his enthusiasm, forgot such a major detail. Harry turned to Neville saying, "Don't worry about that, Neville. We're doing this right. Kreacher," Harry called out.

The old, wrinkled elf appeared instantaneously; "my master has summoned Kreacher," he said before muttering, "the brave avenger of Master Regulus. My mistress will forgive poor old Kreacher for serving his new master and his blood traitor friends." Harry blanched, but Ron and Neville both choked back laughter. Kreacher had changed so much over the past three years since Harry had first met him. The elf bowed deeply, "How may old Kreacher serve you, Master?"

Harry cleared his throat, raising an eyebrow at Ron and Neville before meeting Kreacher's hazy eyes. "Kreacher, are you able to leave Hogwarts when you need to?"

"Yes Master," the house-elf nodded, "and I have returned to the home of my master earlier today."

Harry nodded, "Very good. Now, can you access my Gringott's vault and buy some things for us?" Ron started to speak but Harry waved him off. "We'll each need a new set of clothes for tonight, everything from top to bottom. Three-piece suits, I think." Harry paused briefly before his smile turned devious. "And if you would, get outfits for the girls as well. Do you know my vault number?" Kreacher nodded and with a final nod from Harry, Kreacher quickly glanced at Ron and Neville before disapparating.

Harry turned to look at his friends, expecting to see Ron upset, but it was Neville who protested, sobered by the realization. "Harry, honestly, you can't expect us to let you buy us clothes!" and before Harry could reply, Ron patted Neville on the shoulder and shook his head.

"You get used to it, Neville. It took me years, but you just grow to accept that Harry's going to throw money away on your behalf. Don't take advantage, mind you, but just accept it and move along."

Harry looked at Ron with more appreciation than he ever had before; Ron truly was his best mate. Neville only shook his head and walked to the loo, grabbing a towel as he went. "I'll go ahead then and shower up."

Harry waited for the door to close behind Neville before looking up at Ron, "Thanks for understanding me, mate." Ron only nodded, a half-formed smile creeping on his face. He turned away from Harry and pulled his wand out of his pocket, quickly murmuring. Harry felt the coin in his pocket burn again and he drew it into his hand.

_Dress smart. If you need clothes, call for Kreacher. Tonight's on Harry._

Harry only laughed at his friend. Tonight and any other night the stubborn bastard would let him, Harry would be happy to foot the bill.

A half-hour later, when Harry finished in the loo, he had the days-old stubble that had graced his face tamed, but not gone and a towel wrapped around him. Ron and Neville had already begun dressing themselves in the robes Kreacher had purchased for them, but stopped when they saw Harry's many wounds, revealing to Ron and Neville the extent of the damages he had sustained. With almost two days having passed, he was glad they hadn't seen him yesterday – his bruises, scars and poorly healed wounds were stark reminders that the evening ahead of them had been hard-earned. Ron opened his mouth to speak, but Harry cut across him. "Tomorrow," he said with a voice that was both appreciative and final.

He walked over to his bed to find that Kreacher had laid out the newly-purchased robes in a coordinated outfit, a feat Harry was certain that he could not have accomplished himself. Ron and Neville quickly finished dressing; Ron's shimmering obsidian robes and suit were set off by the shade of his now-flowing hair and Neville's broad shoulders – when had he gone from a pudgy little boy to a stout wall of muscle, by the by – were accentuated by the slim cut of his tan robes and deep brown suit.

Harry quickly put on the royal blue suit and crimson robes, fixed up his Gryffindor gold tie and walked to the door, shaking the collar as he went. Grabbing the handle, he turned to his friends, feeling rakish and smirking confidently. "Let's go down and meet the girls. It's time for Hogsmeade to see that the boys are back in town."

Ron and Neville's wild eyes gleamed, walking out the door. With no one around but friends, Harry was definitely going to enjoy tonight. He quickly walked downstairs and was struck dumb by the vision in front of him, so much so that he stopped walking on the staircase only to have Ron bump into him and knock him to the floor below.

Harry quickly picked himself back up in time to see Ginny in a long cerulean gown, shimmering like the sea above which her red hair burned like the setting sun. He stepped forward and took her hand, bringing her to him. "You," he said, his voice shaking slightly, "you're beautiful." Her brown eyes looked away from him and she blushed brightly, but he lifted her chin and brought his lips down softly over hers.

After kissing for a moment Harry realized once again that they were not the only people in the room, but as he turned to look around, he saw Hermione in Ron's arms wearing a Gryffindor crimson dress and Neville gazing at Hannah as she came down the stairs in a champagne sheath that clung tightly to her narrow frame. Kreacher, apparently, had really outdone himself.

Their reverie was broken up, however, by the opening of the portrait hole and the voices of the Weasley brothers all collected. Percy stepped through the hole first wearing a black suit and black robes; Harry thought he looked rather officious but had to ask, "Percy is everything alright?"

Bill, Fleur, Charlie, and George filed in behind Percy, all impeccably dressed, George flipping a Galleon in the air. "George got your messages and passed them along," Percy said, jerking an eyebrow up, "I trust you won't mind us joining you." Harry watched Percy's eyes narrowed and flit between him and Ginny and understood. Percy had not been around – he had no idea of the relationship they had. They were being big brothers, and if he was going to win them over as such, this was as good a time as any to start.

"Before we go," Harry said very solemnly, "I need you all to know that I am very sorry about Fred. I'm not going to say what I should have or could have done – that won't change anything… but I want you all to know that I miss him too. George, I'll never know how you feel right now, but the dead…" George put up his hand to cut him off.

"Not right now, mate," he said with pain in his eyes. "Not now."

Harry took a deep breath. "I died yesterday, George," he said bluntly. In the forest, Voldemort killed me. We'll get into the how's and what's later, but I died. I have seen my parents and I have seen the beyond and I can assure you," George raised his hand again but Harry pressed on, "Fred is okay. We are not. We are left behind, but Fred is with us." George looked at Harry furiously, but Harry shouted over him before he could respond, "and I won't say what Fred would or wouldn't have wanted! You knew him best, George, but I do know this! Tonight, if only for tonight, we are going to celebrate. The funerals will begin in a few days and then we can all suffer together, but just for tonight, we are going to go down to the Hog's Head, get right pissed, and surround ourselves with friends. Just for tonight, George, we're not happy, but we are victorious."

George's head sank against his brightly colored robes and his jaw jutted out. Tears streamed down his cheeks and his fists clenched. Bill and Charlie glared at Harry looking murderous, and even Percy seemed more imposing than Harry could have imagined possible. George began to hiccough and shudder and pushed Percy aside, walking in broken steps towards Harry and when George reached him, Harry stood perfectly still uncertain of what would happen next.

"Fred," George said very gravely, "would not want…" He sighed, raised his head and brushed his long hair back from his face. His eyes were bloodshot and wet, but they had regained their glimmer if not their smile. "Fred wouldn't want us to carry on like this. He would have shoved a dragon firecracker up my arse by now if he were here. I'm not okay, Harry. I'm not okay, but tonight, we're drinking to Fred. We bury him in two days, but tonight, we're sending him out in style." He smiled weakly and stuck his hand out to Harry, who grasped it and felt himself slung into a great bearhug. Looking over George's shoulder, he noticed the other Weasley brothers relax considerably.

George let Harry go and brushed off his shoulders. "Now who told you how to dress up, Potter," he asked jokingly, recapturing a bit of his normal personality. He straightened Harry's tie and ruffled his hair. "So tonight's on you is what I understand? Because, if that's the case, Harry, we're going to close old Aberforth down!"

Harry slung an arm around George and reached out for Ginny with his other hand. "That was the plan all along, George. That was the plan all along."


	11. Machiavelli Part One

This is the first of two chapters inspired by the quote below from Chapter III of _The Prince_ by Machiavelli.

"_Sí che l'offesa si fa all'oumo debbe essere in modo che la non tema la vendetta / If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe his vengeance need not be feared."_ – Niccolo Machiavelli

Ginny followed Harry out the portrait hole and heard the others follow behind her in silence; Harry's impromptu sermon to George had put everyone on edge a bit. What did Harry mean that he had died? He hadn't mentioned that in McGonagall's office. He did not seem to lack any willingness to tell his story – she would hear the whole truth eventually, but tonight was not the night for that. Tonight, they were going to celebrate their victory… and remember their losses.

George freed himself from Harry's arm and slunk back to walk alongside his brothers. Ginny felt Harry's hand release hers and then his arm rested along her shoulder, pulling her close to him. She had to hand it to him – he looked phenomenal. The robes were soft against her skin and for the first time, she felt like a woman. She had felt increasingly mature and had developed an adult sense of world-weariness over the past year, but she had never felt so feminine before. She felt beautiful, cherished, and in a way that she never had before, she felt vulnerable.

In many ways, Ginny felt that Harry was a typical male; he was often tactless in a perfectly masculine fashion, he could be overly possessive and protective, and he had a terrible knack for leaving her out, either purposefully or accidentally. But here, walking at his side, dressed so elegantly and feeling his arm around her, she loved feeling possessed. She was really and truly his and she knew that he would not allow anything to take her away from him, and that sense of belonging made her feel incredible. As they walked through the doors into the courtyard, Ginny could not help but remember Harry's words from that morning, _"when I take you…"_ and she shuddered with desire; there were times where Harry's intolerable masculinity was utterly exhilarating.

Harry's arm slid off of her shoulder and she frowned and moaned quietly in disappointment, but when she felt Harry's soft robes wrapping around her shoulders, her heart melted all over again. He thought she was shivering and was being noble – if the chill of the lake had not blown up right then, she might have politely declined, but there she walked, wearing his robe and with his arm around her; anyone who did not know she was utterly his was nothing less than thick… so she might need to remind Ron later. She looked back over her shoulder and saw Ron and Hermione talking quietly with Ron's long arm slung around Hermione's shoulders; Ginny thought they looked adorable, just the way she had thought they would for the past three years.

The walk around the lake to Hogsmeade went quickly and the streets were alight. Revelers were drunk, shooting off Weasley firecrackers and sparks from their wands, and as they walked past the Three Broomsticks, Ginny could swear she heard Hagrid's booming voice leading a chorus of _Odo the Hero. _As they continued, people would notice them and smile and nod to them as though they all understood that there would be time for thanks later, but now was not that time – now was their time for themselves. Ginny looked back behind her and suddenly understood why they were not approached.

Her brothers, both by blood and by fire, had formed an arrow behind them, Hannah and Hermione flanked by their respective boyfriends and led by Percy and George, who were led in turn by Bill, Fleur and Charlie, and between Bill's cursed scars and Charlie's years of work with dragons, the scowls on their faces were among the most intimidating things Ginny had ever seen. She caught Charlie's eye and he flashed her a wink and a smile before resetting his face in his menacing glare.

"I bet you wish you had this kind of public escort before now, yeah," Ginny whispered in Harry's ear, who only looked at her quizzically. She led his eyes over their shoulders to see the tough looking men behind them, and Harry's eyes grew wide and he choked back a laugh. As they turned the corner off the main street, the sign of the Hog's Head swung gently in the night breeze and Ginny grinned broadly in anticipation. Dull noise could be heard from the pub as they approached it, but it was not until they reached the closed door that they realized just how much noise was being kept inside and out of the streets. Harry gripped the door handle and took a deep breath, before looking at Ginny, flicking his eyebrows at her, and flinging the door open dramatically.

Ginny could hear a pin drop inside the bar when everyone looked at them. Seamus and Dean, the Patils, Lavender – every single member of the DA was present, including, and surprisingly, Dennis Creevey, who was very clearly too young to be present, but all things considered, who would deny him one night? Ginny thought of Colin and how he had grown so much in the past year. He did not have Neville's leadership, but there was no one braver than Colin Creevey. She also noticed a rather severe lump in Dennis' nose as though it had been very badly broken very recently.

Just as suddenly as the silence fell on them, arms flew into the air and cheers erupted as Harry led her into the Hog's Head, where everyone was just as sharply dressed as she, even Aberforth. Seamus ran to them and slung and arm around Harry.

"The wizard of the new century, witches and wizards!" Dean ran up on the other side of Harry, smiling briefly at Ginny before he and the much-shorter Seamus lifted Harry onto their shoulders. The imbalance was too much, though and Harry almost fell had it not been for Ron pushing his way under Harry and matching Dean's considerable height with his own. Not to be outdone, Seamus continued shouting. "Ab! Ab! Pints for everyone!"

"What do you think I'm doing you Irish lout," Aberforth responded with a knowing smile on his face, which Ginny thought made him look even more like his brother than he already did. When he saw Ginny looking at him, he cast her a wink which made his eyes twinkle brightly and his smile grew broad and uneven as though he had not used it in a very long time, which he very likely hadn't – being relegated to a dark corner of Hogsmeade and being more infamous than anything else probably left him without much to smile about.

Pints were quickly drawn and passed around to the thirty gathered and all the faces that Ginny saw were smiling at Harry while they continued their murmured conversations – they were expecting him to speak, the poor fools. They should know as well as anyone that he wasn't about to stand up on the table and give a speech.

And then he did.

Harry balanced himself on Ron's shoulder and lifted himself onto the table. Seamus handed him his pint and Harry shouted, "OI! LISTEN UP!" The bar quieted instantly, all eyes sharply focused on him.

"So you all know that I'm utter shite at public speaking, so let me just get through this and we can get back to getting totally and utterly pissed." A chorus of cheers from Seamus, Dean and Ernie rang out to Harry's embarrassment. "I owe you all a great debt of gratitude. I was talking with Neville and Ron earlier and I told them, but I want you all to know that I'm extremely proud to know…"

The doors to the Hog's Head were flung open behind Neville and Hannah and there stood Zacharias Smith, dressed head to toe in the most ostentatious robes Ginny had ever seen. They looked like dragon's blood had accidentally splattered across dragon hide and left a rather nasty discoloration across the whole set, but on the whole, Smith seemed as smug as ever.

"Sorry, I'm late! Do go on, Potter, I won't be but a moment at the bar and then the festivities can begin!" Ginny watched as he sidled his way past Hannah and Neville and weaved through Charlie, Bill, and Fleur, muttering, "excuse me… alright, human wall… cor, blimey, you're takin' the piss." Ginny merely glared at him and noticed that, although Bill and Charlie didn't appreciate being knocked around, everyone else seemed to match her expression: loathing, hatred, disgust. She looked up at Harry who only seemed utterly incredulous, looking as though he had just been hit in the head with a bludger.

Harry blinked several times and shook his head severely, "Smith, what are you doing?"

Smith looked unabashed. "I'm… getting a pint, Potter. Like I said, I won't be but a moment, so you can…"

"No, no, Smith," Harry interrupted, "I meant, what are you doing HERE?"

Zacharias Smith pulled the Galleon out of his pocket and shook it at Harry, "I imagine the same thing everyone else is, Potter. Celebrating our victory!" Ginny saw him try to smile to break the tension in the room, but he only grimaced and straightened his face back after a moment. He looked around the room and his eyes settled, but Ginny couldn't tell on whom. "And what's little Creevey doing here anyway? What, Colin couldn't make it so he sent Junior here?" Smith forced a laugh and was suddenly aware of how suddenly the room shifted after his last statement.

"Smith, are you…," Harry began, but Dennis' small voice cut him off.

"It's fine, Harry, but thank you. I would appreciate it, though, if you could help me up onto your table. I can't quite make eye contact with Smith." Harry reached his hand out and took Dennis', but it wasn't until Ernie MacMillan took Dennis under the arms and helped to hoist him that he was able to get both feet onto the table – even as a fourth year, Dennis was impossibly small, like his brother had been.

"My brother can't be here, tonight, Smith, because he is dead." Even Ginny was shocked by the bald statement that Dennis Creevey had given, but he continued, eyes locked on the older boy's, who now could not bring himself to look away. "He was killed, Smith, in a Battle he was not allowed to participate in. You see, when Professor McGonagall told us that we had to leave and that only those of age could stay and fight, Colin snuck back into the castle even though he was only sixteen. His birthday, for the record, was later this week. He told me that he was going to stay and fight and in a few days and after we won, it wouldn't matter that he wasn't of age.

"I've been able to get a little bit of a story about what happened to him from people, especially Oliver Wood. Wood said he was there when it happened and he carried his body to safety as quickly as he could. He said Colin fought like mad. Said Colin killed two Giants and wouldn't move out from in front of the castle doors as if he himself were the last line of defense of the castle. A Death Eater got him, though. Hit him with a curse that made his heart explode – the healers say that he only stopped crying blood earlier today and that pretty much means that his body has no blood left in it." Ginny marveled in morbid fascination at the coolness with which Dennis spoke such horrific things, especially about his own brother. She would have been bawling and screaming by now, she realized.

"Wood said that he and George were able to carry Colin in during a break in the battle. Fred Weasley is dead as well, in case you didn't know." The look on Zacharias' face said that he hadn't known. "Right, well I just thought you should be caught up on what you missed when you were pushing students out of the way to make your escape. I should thank you for this, by the way," he said, his voice getting increasingly aggressive while he pointed at his nose. "When you flung me into the wall you broke my nose quite badly, but I figure it'll be a great character mark for when I start dating. I get to tell all the girls, 'yeah, I got this when I was thrown into a wall at the Battle of Hogwarts by a fleeing coward.' I mean honestly, Smith, what made you think to come here tonight?"

Zacharias Smith drew himself up to his full height, which was not intimidating at all, and with his nose in the air in a manner entirely too reminiscent of Malfoy, had the nerve to look Dennis straight in the eyes and say, "I have no idea what you're talking about, Creevey, but you shouldn't tell lies like that. Potter knows. I fought." His eyes shifted to Harry as though he was willing him to say that he had seen Smith fighting.

Before Harry could open his mouth, Neville stepped out from the door to the center of the room, his many scars stark white against the burning red of his face, picking Smith up by the collar and lifting him effortlessly up so that his eyes were even with Dennis Creevey's. "You," Neville gritted through his teeth, eyes narrow and predatory "are going to apologize and you are going to leave." The smaller man quickly nodded his head and shifted his wide eyes to Dennis Creevey who simply seemed to be waiting expectantly.

"S-S-Sorry… Creevey. S-Sorry for…," Smith stopped and Neville shook him violently.

"FOR WHAT?!"

"For l-l-lying. F-for lying and notknowingaboutyourbrother."

Neville dropped him unceremoniously into a heap on the floor and Smith picked himself up and dusted himself off, casting glances around the room, not quite making eye contact with anyone. He all but sprinted for the door, but ran headlong into Charlie Weasley, who looked quite unimpressed with the boy, and despite being just shorter than Smith, looked rather like a red-capped barrel that was now cracking considerably large knuckles on its gnarled and scratched hands. Smith weaved around him and ran out the door.

"You know," Harry called out after a moment of silence, "sod the speech; let's get pissed. Aberforth! Firewhiskey for young master Creevey, here," and the bar exploded in cheers. The mood was entirely too damped by the presence of Zacharias Smith and as Harry leaned in and whispered to Dennis, Ginny knew that he would have given all the world to have just one happy night with good friends. It seemed that tonight would not be an uninterrupted night, but she hoped that the rest of the evening would smooth over the tension that that Ravenclaw tosspot had brought with him.­­

Unfortunately, even that wish seemed to be wasted as an explosion suddenly rocked Hogsmeade. Ginny watched as Harry leapt down from the table and sprinted out the door, wand drawn, and suddenly, the entirety of the Hog's Head followed after him.

Whomever it was that was interrupting Harry's night, she thought, was about to get what's for.


	12. Machiavelli Part Two

This chapter is the second of two chapters inspired by the quote below from Niccolo Machiavelli's _The Prince_. It is also inspired by the song "Blood and Thunder" by Mastodon.

"_Sí che l'offesa si fa all'oumo debbe essere in modo che la non tema la vendetta / If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe his vengeance need not be feared."_ – Niccolo Machiavelli

Blood and Thunder

_"I think that someone is trying to kill me."_

Harry ran outside to see the main street of Hogsmeade alight and down the lane, Harry could see Gladrags was an inferno. He sprinted down to the main street to see several men in holocaust cloaks and silver masks – the remnants of the Death Eaters, undoubtedly, or someone who wanted them to think they were Death Eaters – flinging spells wildly, sometimes shooting odd stunners into burning buildings and sometimes sending more flames through the windows and onto the thatched roofs of the town.

He stepped out into the middle of the street and shouted, "looking for me?" swishing his wand around to fight the fires that raged through Hogsmeade as Death Eaters rounded on him from all sides of the lane.

"It can't have been that easy," one masked man said, turning to another. "You mean Potter really just came running because we started in on Hogsmeade?" The voice was almost incredulous and Harry suddenly realized that perhaps his reputation for gallantry had not only preceded him, but was in fact working against him. "_Avada Kedavra!_" Harry quickly rolled out of the way of the killing curse, but he knew it wasn't even well cast and would not be likely to kill him had it hit. "Oh come on, I just wanted to see if you were really immune to it, Potter! I mean, it's not like we'd actually go after you anyway!"

The words hit him heavily – if they thought he couldn't be killed, of course they wouldn't go after him, not when he'd just beaten Voldemort. He quickly stunned the Death Eater who had fired at him, and as though they had just broken through some sort of hypnosis, the other Death Eaters disapparated and Harry quickly heard a scream behind him – the only scream he would never want to hear. Ginny's scream. He ran back to the Hog's Head to see Charlie on the ground and Ron screaming furiously at the Dark Mark that appeared suddenly in the sky over Hogsmeade. "It was supposed to be over. GODDAMNIT, IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE OVER!"

"RON," Harry yelled out, "RON! WHAT HAPPENED? WHAT HAPPENED TO GINNY!?"

Ron rounded on his friend and looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him, "THEY TOOK HER, HARRY! THEY TOOK HER AND APPARATED AWAY!" Ron screamed loudly and painfully and when his voice cracked, Harry was sure that he had broken a blood vessel in his throat, trickling blood into his lungs with every inhale and spewing it from his mouth with every scream.

Harry's eyes shut hard – they had her. They didn't kill her, they had taken her to hurt him, and hurt him they had; Harry had never felt so violated in all his life. They took his Ginny and they couldn't have gone very far unless they had made it back to the apparation point at the rail station, so Harry ran back along the streets that had been filled with revelers only minutes ago and ran toward the train station, hoping to find a hint at where they might be along the way. Along the way, he passed the smoldering shell of Zonko's and the still-burning Honeyduke's, but in the distance he saw a lone building on the top of a hill utterly untouched by the carnage around it.

Harry ran up the street to the Shrieking Shack and leapt the fence, speeding towards the door. He had only made it through when a blood red light appeared before his eyes and the world went dark.

_"I am completely immersed in darkness."_

Hermione cried into Ron's chest, hitting him roughly while he screamed for the both of them. It wasn't enough that Ginny was taken from before their very eyes, but Charlie was stunned – hard – for hiseffort to rescue her, and Harry hadn't been around to save them. Her mind was not rational, and she knew it, but Harry was always there, he would always rescue them, and now she could hear him calling out to Ron down the street behind him. Ron let her go and spun around violently and she collapsed to the ground, cradling herself and rocking gently in a futile attempt to calm her nerves.

She heard Ron shout at Harry, "THEY TOOK HER!" followed by footsteps running away from them.

"I've sent a message to Kingsley and Percy's gone back to the Ministry to try to track them," Bill's voice said through the darkness of her shut eyes. "Get back inside – we don't need to be any more vulnerable than we already are. AB," he called out and his voice was covered by the sound of the door slamming.

She felt Ron's hands on her, lifting her to her feet and she struggled wearily, too distraught even to be touched, but he did not understand – Ron and his bloody emotional range – and she hit him again, thrashing against him even as he drew her into his chest. He pushed her gently across the threshold of the Hog's Head and she stumbled into the arms of Lavender Brown, her former roommate, whose eyes were sad and afraid, just as Hermione knew her own were.

The room was still full of the D.A. and the murmurs and questions on their lips. What do we do now? Where did Harry go? Are we safe? We can fight! FUCKING DEATH EATERS!

A rumble came from the stairs at the back of the room and twenty-odd wands were suddenly pointed right at the heart of Fleur Weasley. She spoke very calmly and directly, "Ze passage to 'ogwarts is working. Ev'ryone needs to go through and stay in la Salle sur Demande." There was an outbreak of voices angry with her for the news, but a voice from the door silenced them all.

"OI! SHUT IT," Ron shouted, and Hermione spun to see him with Charlie's stocky frame mounted limply across his shoulders. He stepped in hardly bothered by his brother's weight and continued, "NOW WE'VE ALREADY LOST MY SISTER AND HARRY'S RUN OFF TO GO DO HIS HARRY THING! EVERYONE NEEDS TO QUIET THE FUCK DOWN AND GET BACK TO THE CASTLE! NO ONE IS GOING ANYWHERE," he said loudly, his eyes turning and penetrating hers, saying softly and with bitter resignation, "no one." At his words, a heavy air fell on the room and as he shut the door, Neville took Hannah by the hand and lead her up the stairs to the portrait of Ariana Dumbledore.

Hermione looked back at Ron and saw that his eyes were wet and bloodshot and he had blood on his lips and the front of his robes. She quickly went to the bar and grabbed the bottle of firewhiskey that Aberforth had pulled down for Dennis and turned back around, uncorking the bottle as she walked toward Ron. He looked at her uncertainly but she eased her face and said laconically, "You've torn up your throat. This should help." She put the bottle to his lips and tipped it back, pouring only a small amount of the hellish liquid into his mouth. He swallowed the drink painfully and adjusted Charlie on his shoulders. "Oh Ron, for heaven's sake, set him down."

When Charlie was carefully leaned against the bar, she took out her wand and uttered "_renervate_" and the burly man slowly brought his hand up to his face, carefully moving his sore body. Ron looked back from his brother to her and with tears back in his eyes, drew her to him. "I don't know what to do, Hermione. With Ginny and now Harry… I just don't know what to do…," and with that, Ron began crying into her hair. Now it was her turn to comfort him as Charlie roused himself and was led by Bill up the stairs.

_"The fight... is a fight to the death."_

As Percy Weasley dashed through the atrium at the Ministry for Magic, he realized how grateful he was that the Minister's office was on the first floor – he would not have to wait on that accursed elevator. This journey had never seemed so purposeful before, but then, lives were rarely on the line when he had made it. As he burst through the doors of the Minister's suite, Kingsley very quickly had his wand pointed at him.

"What did I tell Percy Weasley outside the Great Hall at Hogwarts," he asked, his face as grave as Percy had ever seen it. He had to admit that he was lucky that this was such a recent event and a fresh memory, however bitter it was.

Percy swallowed deeply. "You said that I had been very lucky to have the family that I did and it was only my last name that was keeping me out of Azkaban until my service hearing could determine why I stayed with the ministry this past year." Kingsley visibly eased.

"Right, so what's happened? I just received a patronus from your brother telling me that Ginny's been kidnapped – tell me everything." Kingsley's voice was smooth and calm and Percy understood now how he was as successful as he had been as an Auror: the man was absolutely implacable.

Percy took a deep breath and calmed himself – he was officially reporting to the Minister and it wouldn't do to be frenzied. Adjusting his glasses, he switched his mind from terrified brother to ruthlessly efficient bureaucrat; "Hogsmeade has been attacked."

"Harry Potter called for a party tonight at the Hog's Head tavern and shortly after we arrived, there was an explosion on the main street of Hogsmeade. Potter ran outside and Ginny Weasley ran after him but was wrangled by Charlie Weasley halfway down the lane and prevented from following him too far toward the danger. I, along with the majority of the group was outside the entrance to the Hog's Head when a cloaked and masked figure apparated suddenly, stunned Charlie Weasley, and grabbed Ginny Weasley into a side-along apparation. Their destination is presently unknown, but Potter appeared shortly thereafter, confirmed that Ginny had been taken, and ran off back toward Hogsmeade. Bill Weasley quickly began making senior decisions and I came as quickly as I could to ascertain possible locations for these terrorists." Kingsley looked grimly at him and he couldn't decide whether it was the news he had delivered or the way he had delivered it, but Percy quickly added, "your orders, sir?"

Kingsley thought silently for a moment, crossing his arms and resting his head on his chest, before looking back to Percy. "Where are your parents right now, Percy?"

"U-umm… they've returned to the Burrow, sir. The wards held – we checked this morning. Mum's probably having a lie-down."

"Floo your father, Percy. It wouldn't do for the Head of Magical Law Enforcement to be absent for such a pressing case," and with that, Kingsley walked back into his private office and grabbed a box, bringing it back into the main office area. He pulled out a tall brown bottle and passed it to Percy, "Butterbeer?"

_"What remorseless emperor...?"_

Molly Weasley was the one in the sitting room when her son flooed with the news that her daughter had been kidnapped. Her husband had been the poor soul who got hit in the stomach when she flung the old wooden wireless across the room afterward.

It wasn't supposed to happen. She had already lost one son and the battle was over. Harry had killed Voldemort and the battle was over. It was supposed to be over! This madness shouldn't have happened! Wasn't she with Harry?

After her husband straightened himself out and brushed himself off, she told him and collapsed on top of him, the world spinning and fading into darkness.

_"No man of the flesh could ever stop me."_

Life is a very strange thing – so often, those who do the least with it are the first to complain about its unfairness or its inevitable end. Everyone will most certainly lose their life someday, though there are those like Riddle and Flamel who delay the inevitable. No one, no one, has stayed away forever. Riddle had come close – he could have truly been a living immortal with his prodigious skill and willingness to destroy his soul to maintain his life, but he became, for lack of a better word, greedy.

Riddle sought out the Peverell relics in the belief that he would become the immortal master of death by their possession, but he was too zealous, wanting not only immortality but power as well. As usually happens in these circumstances, individuals rose up to resist his power, and in their resistance, they broke his bid for immortality as well.

But something unexpected happened. A boy who was fighting Riddle succeeded in Riddle's quest; that is, uniting the so-called "Hallows" and becoming the master of Death. The unusual aspect to this was that he did not do so in his own interest or even intentionally, but rather for the purpose of defeating Riddle. To clarify, he did not want to have the power himself, but only for that power finally defeat a genocidal madman. It was this boy's self-sacrifice and calm acceptance of his death that caught my attention.

It is uncommon for me to see a "good death"; most are fearful or violent, but this boy truly died on his own terms, forcing his foe to contribute to his own demise. I know that the scheme was not his, but still, it was very impressive. This boy, through no effort or intent of his own, had delved into ancient magicks, the most ancient magicks, in fact. His blood practically coursed with forgotten and terrible power borne from his mother's sacrifice, his own sacrifice, his refusal of power (which, in fact, gave that very power to him), and ultimately, his nigh-infinite, irrepressible love.

Love is more powerful than many want to believe and pure, true love is a magical juggernaut, utterly indomitable. While the boy's life was full of pain, shame, and hate, his spirit, his will, was an eternal love engine, fueling his magic with that ancient and primordial power. Thus it did not surprise me that the boy ran into action when his friends were threatened, nor did it surprise me when he charged recklessly to rescue his mate when she was taken. It is his most defining characteristic, after all.

Countless eons have shown me lives beginning and ending like showers of sparks set against the night sky – you see them, and some last longer than others, but they all too quickly fade away. So when you, to continue the metaphor, begin discovering that different fires make different sparks, you begin to notice certain commonalities among them. Potter lives, like sparks, are full of fire and always burn bright, if not always long. His father is a prime example; James Potter burned brighter than any number of his peers, but alas, his fire was extinguished after only a short time. If (or I should rather say "when") Harry learns of his ancestry, he will better understand what it means to hail from The Most Honourable House of Potter – undoubtedly, he will recognize that certain characteristics shine through the blood and that, while nurturance may instill habits, nature reveals truths. Harry was not the first Potter to rush headlong into so-called "impossible odds", nor is he the last, but he is certainly unique among… everything.

It was during this particular rescue attempt (there have been so many…) that I showed him just how unique he is, or rather, showed him a glimpse of just how powerful he truly is.

It should be of little to no surprise that, when Harry Potter broke into the Shrieking Shack, he was soon captured and while he had been outnumbered before by more competent opponents, but he almost always had others (or otherwise unforeseen magic) to assist him. He was taken into a very large sitting room (and had he been not otherwise occupied, he might have noticed that the furniture and walls bore the rather distinctive slashes of a werewolf) where he was tortured quiet cruelly for several hours, both physically and emotionally. When the Cruciatus curse no longer fazed him, a boggart was soon found in a cupboard, which, upon revealing itself to him, turned into a very dead Ginevra Weasley. While I imagine that his assailants assumed this assault would be profoundly successful in breaking down Harry Potter, he was, as I have said before, quite unique.

Several things happened over the next few seconds, but all things in due course. When the boggart had finally taken its toll on Harry, he began to scream, shout and beg for the scene before him to be proved false, and when the boggart, in its own simple manner, began showing in more and more gruesome detail the death of young Ginevra, Harry Potter's attention turned from her to the men around him, who thought the whole scene extremely amusing. The cruel leers and wicked laughs bent and twisted Harry's mind until he began to focus on one single wish – revenge. Harry Potter did not break down upon seeing the dead body of his beloved. Harry Potter, for lack of a better phrased, snapped, throwing his head back into a primal scream of the purest and most concentrated sort of sorrow and violation.

Because I have little interest in such trivia as the affairs of the countless mortals that have come and gone over the course of time, I must say that, when I do directly intervene in their world, it is always the stuff that legends are made of. This incident would later be called Potter's Aria (but most certainly not to his face), but those who were present, or at least nearby, would refer to this night as The Night of Screams.

A scream is a sort of magic unto itself. Think of it as a wand, a tool by which the magical energies of the world are focused and directed in a specific fashion at a specific target. A scream is a much older method of this guidance of magic, and much less precise, albeit far more effective. A scream conveys emotion – powerful, raw emotion. Infants, in their temper tantrums, may cause glasses to shatter or doors to slam, and this is only an infant, who knows only its own desires and their fulfillment or lack thereof. An adult, who knows what it means to love, to lose, to fear, and to weep, is much more powerful if they are able to focus on the one specific emotion. The problem is that, as adults, the mind is much more active and tends to repress raw emotion, choosing instead to pursue reason. Harry Potter, at that moment, had no reason left – only his pain.

Harry's feral mind began to race, taking in the features of the men - their scruff and stubble from days on the run; the bruises several still bore, presumably from the Battle of Hogwart's; the smudges of sweat and grime that covered their foreheads and cheeks. The small vessels running through their eyes. The veins that bulged in necks as they laughed at his pain. I may be entirely biased in the matter, but I was nothing less than pleased when he took it upon himself to make his pain their own. But first – his bindings. He must get out of these bindings. He must be released.

_Yes, Master._

The words, if I had lips, would be unnatural to them. I am not a being that is to be mastered. I would have taken great shame in being bound to anyone at all had the lad not shown such great potential. When I unwound the magic that held the flimsy ropes and chains around him, young Potter was as surprised and confused as any of his captors. I decided that, because I was for all intents and purposes his servant, I should take my master's interests upon myself and ensure their completion, and while I did not possess young Potter (not that such a feat would be possible – his will is far too strong), I will admit to guiding his hand.

I must also say that it was a wonderful experience to have so directly worked in the mortal world – usually I am relegated to that odd in-between where some quickly pass on and others chose to forever remain. While Potter would accept responsibility (credit is not the word for it, as I have come to understand), I simply could not allow him to make poor work of his revenge. The Master of Death has a reputation to maintain, after all.

I took the task upon myself to fulfill my Master's wishes. His enemies must feel his pain, and what considerable pain it is. I must confess I took great liberties with my understanding of the pain to which he was referring, so I used it all. Eleven years of abuse and lies at the hands of his supposed family. Seven years of almost constant danger and misadventure. The endangerment and loss of loved ones, including the only true connections that remained to the parents that he never knew. One year of constant fear for the woman who, to his mind, was now dead because of him. An imagined lifetime of laughter and love – the future of which he had only just allowed himself to dream.

Oh, yes; Harry Potter knew pain. And now, these poor souls, for their misguided attempt at their own revenge, would feel every ounce of it. As the ropes and chains fell to the floor and Harry's wand flew across the room into his hand, I could not resist the urge to tap the air twice upon an invisible conductor's stand before guiding his actions in the creation of a human orchestra, a chorus of screams.


	13. Heirate Mich Adios

This chapter was inspired by the songs "Heirate Mich" and "Adios", both by Rammstein.

Author's Note: After something like a week of waiting to publish this chapter, I have decided to go ahead and do so WITHOUT having it Beta'ed. I have been able, up until this point, to publish my story on my own and feel confident in my product, but now, to be frank, I NEED HELP! If you read this and you like it, please consider helping me to continue it.

Heirate Mich/Adios

Harry knew that what he was seeing wasn't real. Rationally, he knew that he was in the Shrieking Shack and that he was in so much pain from the cruciatus curse being used on him that he was hallucinating. If, however, after so many years of guilt-ridden dreams and experiences no one, let alone an adolescent, should have had, a hallucination of himself and Ginny Weasley by the lake was what his mind was able to conjure to distract him from what was most certainly mind-breaking pain, then that was not a bad escape. All in all, he had to applaud his brain for its good taste.

Harry didn't know, however, why Ginny was dressed like a Valkyrie. That part did not make sense.

Nor did it make sense that Harry was wearing a tuxedo with a bowtie. There really was not a situation in which the combination of their two outfits might make sense because Harry felt that he would have had enough sense to coordinate his Halloween costume with Ginny now that they were back together. If she was a Valkyrie, he should be an Einherjar or one of the gods or something topical. Right now he just looked like a poor-man's James Bond.

"I think you look just fine," said the Giant Squid, most indignantly in a voice that was far too human for a cephalopod. As a matter of fact, the squid had become entirely too anthropomorphic, developing human facial features along its side. Harry privately wondered if its tentacles still hid a beak or now covered up another long appendage. "Wouldn't you like to know? Send your friend into the water and let her find out!" Harry was entirely too confused by the squid's sudden speech to notice that he was now bleeding from his nose.

Dream-Ginny took notice, however, and began to blot at the bleed with her cloak, which Harry thought was entirely too ironic. Valkyries were battle-maidens, carrying the honored dead to Valhalla, and here was Ginny wiping up his wounds as though preparing him for the journey. Oh fuck. Blood got on his shirt. That would leave a stain unless he acted quickly!

Harry bolted up and ran into the cold water of the lake leaving Valkyrie-Ginny to stand and hold her spear at her side in confusion. He had to admit that running into the lake wearing a tuxedo may seem odd to the passerby, but this was a good shirt, not to be ruined by blood! He turned and looked back at Valkyrie-Ginny who was smiling at him. Smiling back, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes and put his head under the water. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

Harry opened his eyes to see that he was not, in fact, wearing a tuxedo and neither was he in the Black Lake. Harry was in Pain. "Pain Village," the signpost said joyfully. "Population: H.J. Potter. Home of Harry Potter, the Man-Who-Conquered!" Harry hated those pseudonyms that were created on his behalf and wanted to strike the smiling signpost. If Harry lived here, then he should have told the signpost by now, a thousand times by now, that he was just Harry! Oooh, look at that dog.

A large red dog trotted up to Harry and jumped up to his chest, licking his face with all the love a dog can muster. Its shaggy fur felt good under Harry's hands and for the love of him, he could not understand why this dog smelled so deliciously of flowers and strawberries! Sirius smelled like the earth and grass when he was a dog, and that was, truth be told, Harry's only experience with them beyond "Aunt" Marge's Ripper. While he loved Sirius, he decided that he liked this dog much more.

As he began to look around again, he realized that Pain Village looked remarkably like Hogsmeade… if it were displaced into the middle of the desert. Harry decided that this was definitely not Scotland. Scotland didn't have deserts. A voice called out faintly in the distance behind him, but he heard it and turned.

Out in the dunes, blurred by the heat rising from the sand, walked Ginny. He knew it was Ginny. He found her and now they were going to be safe and happy. His slowly-spreading smile vanished when he saw the state of her. Her clothes were shredded and moth-eaten and her skin was drawn too-tightly across her body. She looked like an inferi. As she approached him, she began to waver, leaning this way and that, and as her body began a terribly unbalanced lean, he ran to her and flung his arms around her, trying to keep her steady. When he saw her eyes, there was no brown – only a cold black emptiness, and Harry sobbed into her neck wishing with all his might that she might live, no matter what the cost to him.

"Ginny," he yelled, "Ginny, no! I need you! I love you! You – you can't leave me! You can't! You were supposed to marry me! We were supposed to be in love! I-I can't do this without you!" Tears poured down his face and his lips quivered – this simply could not be. She couldn't be dead. She couldn't be dead. She couldn't be dead.

"Ginny," Harry croaked, "before you are gone, marry me. Let me love you for the rest of my life. Marry me, Ginny." Her cold, desiccated body offered no reply, and Harry began to shake her. "Marry me, Ginny," he said with more fervor but no less love. "Marry me, and wait for me on the other side!" He ran his fingers through her patches of red hair, only to have the long strands come detached from her skin at his touch. He clutched her close to him now, as he hid his face against her chest as though he were speaking directly to her still heart. "Marry me, Ginny." As he rocked her in his arms, he could feel her stiffness; the tears came harder down his anguished face. "Marry me, Ginny," he said again through gritted teeth. "Marry me. Marry me! MARRY ME," he screamed at her lifeless corpse, his voice growing frantic as her parts began to fall away. His eyes grew frenzied and he squeezed the shut, crushing Ginny to his body. When he squeezed her, he felt her finally collapse into dust as the rest of her body parts fell, strewn around him.

Several cruel laughs echoed around him and he looked around to see that he was not kneeling, nor was he in a desert village; he was bound in a large room in the Shrieking Shack, and in front of him laid the lifeless body of Ginny Weasley. In the periphery, Harry noticed several cloaked men, the source of the laughter. He tried to run to Ginny but could feel the magic binding him to the spot. He had no idea how long he had been here, but he had to break out; they had killed Ginny, and now he would kill them. The tears he thought would come at seeing Ginny dead did not – instead, he piled upon these men the sum of all the general rage and hate felt by his whole race from Adam down. Shaking violently against his bindings, he threw his head back and screamed, and then, as if his chest had been a mortar, he burst his hot heart's shell from his throat.

He glared at the men with his heart's pure love – his greatest weapon – replaced by acidic hatred. The minute details of their features came into vivid clarity as blood pumped through his brain. Suddenly, he felt the magic that bound him fall away and as quickly as he could think it, his wand flew to his hand. With two quick flourishes to get his arms moving again, he saw the eyes of the men surrounding him fill with abject terror and the air was rent with their screams of terror and pain as he began to extract his vengeance.

Harry was silent, nor did he think of any spells to cast in particular; he simply pointed his wand and hurt them. One levitated and was flung in the direction of great black curtains, which he tore away with him as he was flung out a window some fifteen feet high, but it was not enough, he had not suffered as Harry had wished him to, and so he was summoned back, so that Harry might perform his due diligence upon him.

Some of the Death Eaters attempted to run, but the doors were sealed by Harry's wishes – with the body of Ginny Weasley on the floor, no one escaped the wrath of Harry Potter. Harry's eyes grew heavy as he looked around the room, taking slow stock of his victims. Green and red lights flew at him and evaporated across his chest and with a thought, the men's wands exploded in their hands. Their screams for freedom or mercy continued, but there would be none of that tonight. The moon outside the window was white and full and on another night, he would have wished to have spent his time making love to Ginny – an act he knew they would now never share, another joy stripped from his life.

They would never make love and they would never get married. They would not spend nights together curled up on a sofa in Grimmauld Place or the Burrow or wherever they settled down. They would not have children to raise and love. They would not grow old together. Ginny would not grow old at all, having been rudely ripped away from him, and for what? What petty aim did these men hope to achieve? The revival of the Voldemort or some sort of idiotic vengeance for his death? Making Harry suffer for their new-old position in life? These men were not Death Eaters – at best they were snatchers – but it did not matter; they wore the right clothes and said and did the right things. As far as Harry was concerned, their inevitable death was far too good for them.

Harry started slowly, levitating one of the helpless men into the air over the center of the room and beginning to twist his limbs back and forth as though he were trying to loosen a tight seal. Harry closed his eyes and tensed his jaw, reopening them to see the very dead form of Ginny on the floor, and suddenly the air exploded with blood. Droplets splattered across the walls and not even the ceiling was left untouched. Harry's own face was misted by the red spray, clouding his vision enough for Harry's rational mind to casually step out of the way of the instinctive bull that was charging up the base of his neck.

Harry opened his eyes again like a death blossom and tore into his enemies, twisting and mangling their bodies, levitating them over the body of Ginny Weasley and exsanguinating them as a sacrifice to her, their empty screams filling the air for seconds before their blood did. Empty husks of corpses were flung around the room as a sheen of blood soaked into the aged wood and coated the entire sunroom floor; in the reflection, Harry could see the moon once again, full and shining, but now with a tint of red, and the yawning abyss in his chest where once beat his heart grew larger.

Looking back down at Ginny, he thought back to something Dudley had told him when they were children, _'you've got nothing, Potter! You've always had nothing and you'll never, ever have anything for yourself!'_ and despite the childish cruelty of Dudley's taunt, it rang through Harry's mind like prophesy. Ginny was taken from him – he would never, ever have anything that mattered to him. He had all the wealth in the world and enough power to topple the darkest wizard in history, but the only thing he wanted, the only thing that mattered, was love, and any love he had ever felt had now been stripped from him – his parents, his godfather, his mentors, and now his… wife.

Harry's heart grew heavy as he realized that he would never love again, and now, thinking back to all the wrongs he had endured over the course of his life and the "noble" way he had suffered through them, he decided that everyone who had ever hurt him would share his pain – it was time for a reckoning.

Harry could suddenly hear voices out in the hall – there were more! Harry flung open the double doors that lead into the entrance hall and before anyone could fire a spell off at him, he had seven "death eaters" in the air, screaming and writhing. A figure darted out from a side room and slipped out the front door, but not before Harry took his attention away from the cloaked men wailing above him. Harry strode confidently, leaving his victims suspended while he pursued their compatriot – no one was exempt from Harry's vengeance tonight. The figure had almost made it to the gate when Harry instinctively created wards. They turned in place trying to apparate away, but Harry simply continued his stroll down the hill path toward Hogsmeade, confident that he would not be denied the slightest satisfaction of his fury.

"SO! What have we here," Harry said lightly, smiling venomously at his prey. The figure spun around again, this time losing its hood, and Harry was stunned to see the face of Gregory Goyle looking rather like he had just been caught roughing up first-years; mildly-penitent, but with a dim glow of pleasure in his eyes. "Goyle… Goyle?" Harry sputtered; mere days before, Harry had saved his life from fiendfyre, and now… now, he was involved in Ginny's murder?

"Alright, Potter," he said in his slow, dull voice, "you've caught me. I'll go quietly."

It took Harry a moment to comprehend what was happening: Goyle was surrendering. Didn't he understand that Harry didn't care; that by virtue of being here, he was going to die? Harry laughed, incredulously; snickering at first, before finally cracking and throwing his head back, laughing harder than he could ever remember. Tears streamed from his eyes and he found it increasingly hard to breathe, to the point that he actually fell to his hands and knees and began to laugh silently as he gasped for air. He could hear Goyle chuckling along with him in his dull rumble and Harry was quite sure that Goyle couldn't possibly understand what Harry found so funny.

"G-Goyle, you're surrendering," Harry asked, catching his breath?

"Yeah, Potter," Goyle said smiling, "so call the aurors or whatever. I'll even testify and maybe they'll cut my sentence in Azkaban if you put in a word for me. Snatching isn't such a bad charge, right?" Harry cradled his face in his hands, trying in vain to stifle his laughter even as the continued screams echoed down the hill. The confusion that played across Goyle's face only made him laugh harder.

"S-snatching… Goyle? Snatching?" Harry's voice still laughed, but it was quickly becoming the hard-edged manic laugh he associated more with his first impression of Sirius.

Goyle was clearly becoming uncomfortable with being made to think; "fine, so snatching and a few _incendios_. You saved the day again, Potter, so no harm." He was trying to negotiate his way out of trouble with Ginny's corpse laying in the Shrieking Shack behind them? Harry's face became a mask of fury.

"No harm, Goyle? No harm!? GINNY WEASLEY IS DEAD, GOYLE! I'LL SHOW YOU NO FUCKING HARM!" and with that, Harry slashed his wand at Goyle's hand and it was cut clean away. He screamed in a pitch that Harry wouldn't have believed he could reach as he lifted the spurting stump to his eyes. Harry leaned in close, locking eyes with the larger man, "you're going to die tonight. Just like Ginny died. But I'll save you for last – you should have known better." Goyle's eyes grew large and he began to sob. Harry turned and walked back toward the shack.

"_**SHE'S NOT DEAD, POTTER!**_**"**

Harry stopped in his tracks and began to magically twist Goyle's wounded arm, squeezing blood out of it and letting it spray and reflect off the wards.

"_**B-B-BOGGART! BOGGART! FUCK YOU, POTTER! BOGGART!**_"

Harry realized then something he should have noticed before – Ginny was never covered in the blood. It was always just Ginny's dead body, but the blood he was pouring around the room never stained her. It was a fucking boggart. The idiot wasn't lying. Harry ground his teeth together, and spun around, flashing his wand at Goyle, yelling, _"Stupefy!"_ He hit the ground with a heavy thud as Harry walked back, anger emanating from him in waves – he was fury, he was rage, he was death incarnate.

Harry strode quickly through the entrance hall, the screaming bodies twisting in a cruel finality from the magical energy Harry was casting off, but when he made his way back to the sunroom, Ginny lay there still, untouched by the pool of blood she lay in. Harry's lip curled into a Snape-like sneer as he shouted "_Riddikulus!_" The boggart changed with such force that it exploded in a poof of smoke as though it had been simply unmade.

"_**GIN-NYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!**_" Harry fell to his knees in the blood, threw his head back, and roared; very soon, someone would answer for making Harry do what he had done, but for now, a small light flickered in a black space in Harry's chest, and Harry shuddered as a terrible chill he never realized he felt was suddenly lifted from him. Ginny was alive. He trudged through the entrance hall as corpses fell around him. Ginny was alive. He dipped into the side room that lead to the Whomping Willow. Ginny was alive.

His weariness hit him all at once. He had been tortured, broken, and had somehow done something _else_ with magic that was meant to be impossible and would never fully be understood. He felt blood running down his face and wondered how long it had been flowing. His nose felt broken and he could only imagine the physical beatings he had been made to endure during his unconsciousness. He felt his chest swell again as he was filled with righteous indignation; _HIS _Ginny had been taken; _THEY_ had been violated; _SOMEONE_ still had to pay. He buzzed around the lower floor of what he had never before realized was a very large house before realizing that she was not to be found. The upstairs was all that was left. He hobbled quickly up the steps and, no longer having the energy to search door by door, he blasted each door off its hinges, glancing inside as he made his way down the long hall.

Finally, there was one door left and Ginny, in whatever state she may be, was on the other side of it. His Ginny had been waiting for him while he had been exercising an idiot's revenge – no longer. Whomever was on the other side of the door with her was about to be very sorry. Leveling his wand at the door, he steeled himself as the chill he had shaken off settled over him again. Closing his eyes, his mind flashed to Boggart-Ginny, to Ron screaming in the lane, to Hermione who was too emotional to look at him, to an unconscious Charlie – whoever had meant to hurt him did not seem to understand that his power, the power the dark lord knew not which had so simply and perfectly been defined as "love" was not simply the love of a mother for her child or the love of a man for his wife.

Harry Potter loved his friends, every one of them, so much that he had died for them. If death or pain held no fear for Harry James Potter, Merlin help the poor unoriginal bastard waiting to die on the other side of this door – they could never understand what they had unleashed upon themselves. Harry Potter was going through that door. And Hell followed behind him.

* * *

Author's note, part 2: For whomever wasn't certain about the first part of this chapter: if you are in enough pain, you will probably hallucinate. It's an effort of your mind to save itself and just let your body deal with it for a while. Harry's in A LOT of pain.

Also, in case it wasn't ABSOLUTELY clear, blood wasn't staining Boggart-Ginny - the boggart was getting soaked, but Harry's worst fear is dead Ginny, not dead, blood-soaked Ginny. Blood wouldn't show up on the image the boggart was showing.

Finally, if you don't like this chapter, just know that I've been trying for something like two weeks to get a Beta to help me. I would rather publish and come back LATER to clean up my story than wait around. IF YOU ARE WILLING TO BETA FOR ME, LET ME KNOW!


	14. Dirge Inferno

This chapter is named for the song "Dirge Inferno" by Cradle of Filth. While there are no lyrical references to the song within the chapter, the Intro and chorus guitar riffs are pretty much the background music for Harry's confrontation in this chapter.

Dirge Inferno

Ginny wasn't scared when she was snatched from the front of the Hog's Head; angry, of course, but not scared. That Charlie had been stunned further angered her, but that was hardly the worst of it. Being petrified and left face-down on a dirty floor was hardly surprising for the situation. The worst was in knowing that Harry had once again come for her and this time he had been caught immediately. This told her two things – she was somewhere near Hogsmeade since Harry was able to find her so quickly, and that Harry had told everyone else to stay behind the way he always did and had come to rescue her alone. Goddamn him, the foolish prat _still_ hadn't learned that he didn't have to do everything alone.

And then it began. Shouts of victory and celebration tore through the building and a voice behind her from a person she had not seen spoke up; "Predictable Potter. It must simply be intolerable to love this man. You _do _love him, don't you? I know that you do, so don't worry about not being able to answer. But, of course, the other side is that he loves you as well. If he didn't, he wouldn't have torn the world apart searching for you. But that's what you do for someone you love, isn't it? Don't you do absolutely _anything _to protect them? Anything to keep them safe? Isn't _that_ what love is? And Potter gives this preposterous speech about a power the Dark Lord didn't have. It was love after all, I'm sure, but the point is that Voldemort didn't appeal to me in any great fashion. Power did – being a blood traitor, I'm sure you don't understand." Ginny snarled inwardly at the last comment, but how dare this psychopath talk about love? What could he possibly know about how it feels to see the love of your life lying limp and lifeless? He kept talking and there was little Ginny could do to react, much less stop him; she was literally a captive audience.

"A witch or wizard, Miss Weasley, is superior to a muggle. Magic affords us power and innate authority, but there are those, your family included, who do not accept this as truth. To taint pure, magical blood with the blood of a magic-less muggle is to my mind idiotic. I am not so blind, Miss Weasley, that I do not recognize magical aptitude when I see it, and I know that young Miss Granger is quite a considerable talent. While certain members of my proud lineage may be far more antiquated in their beliefs than I am, I think it naïve to believe that traditions must continue in the face of progress. So as I see it, Miss Granger is perfectly welcome within wizarding society and with a few generations of breeding to clean up her blood, I would even encourage heirs of ancient families to marry with her issue. She truly is considerably intelligent and it would be an utter shame to let that intelligence be wasted on more muggles." Ginny found herself with a grudging attention to the voice; he would be apt to politics or to teach at Hogwarts were he not a sociopathic wanker.

"Bellatrix, of course, did not feel that way. And for the record, Miss Weasley, no, I do not have any qualms with revealing my identity to you. Potter will know soon enough anyway." Ginny heard the sound of a body rising up followed by footsteps toward her, stopping in front of her, muttering, "Moronic mongrel half-breeds don't even have the decency to leave you bound against a wall… shameful." Ginny found herself propped up and looking at a large, muscular man with several days' worth of stubble around an otherwise well-groomed beard. His dress robes were as ornate as they were expensive, which was to say, very and the cigar he rolled between his fingers smelled fresh and aromatic rather than stale. She had seen him somewhere before but… no… no… Bellatrix… _Lestrange._

"I assume that you remember me, Miss Weasley," he said as he backed away from her. "Unfortunately, there is no way for me to tell. In any event, because our last meeting was so harried and I was hardly in a presentable state, allow me to now formally introduce myself. I am Rodolphus Ophidicus Lestrange," he said with a deep bow, "and you, Miss Weasley, are my prisoner," he said with a face of stoic patience, before it warped into a cruel predators mask, "at least until Mr. Potter arrives. Then you will be my victim." His eyes grew wide and manic before he slipped back into implacability.

"Ah, but let me explain. You have certainly heard, Miss Weasley, the cheers and carrying-on occurring on the other side of that door," he said gesturing to a door across the room. "Potter is here and he is captive, being tortured by a few no-names who think that they can bring back the dark lord if they kill Potter. Don't worry yourself, though, Miss… may I call you Ginevra, for expedience's sake? I will take your silence as consent, then Ginevra. You are going to die today, Ginevra, just as certainly as I am. The reason for this is simple. Potter will kill me, and I will go off to wherever it is that those who have done evil go, but before I die, to ensure that I will be reunited with my Bellatrix again, I will kill you in front of him. Seeing your lifeless body will break his heart without a doubt – in fact, that is part of the plan. We've discovered a Boggart in this house and if he loves you half as much as I loved Bellatrix, his worst fear is not being able to keep you safe," he said, his voice cracking with emotion and his eyes reddening. "But enough talk, for now. It seems moot to ask your forgiveness for this minor transgression, but… _stupefy_," and before she knew it was coming, Ginny knew no more.

* * *

The first thing Ginny became aware of was the screaming, which sounded as though the entire house had come alive with pain. Unintelligible wailing seemed omnipresent and the way the screaming ebbed bit by bit with every wet explosion she heard made her feel ill as she desperately fought the dawning realization of what exactly those sounds were – a sick, tragic serenade.

"Do you hear that, Ginevra?" Lestrange's voice held a sort of strange excitement. "Potter is looking for you as we… excuse me… as I speak, and unless I am much mistaken in my assessment, we should be joined by him within the hour. Suddenly, there was one loud, wet explosion, followed by an eerie and wholly unsettling silence. Ginny did not know how long the screaming had been going on, but its rather sudden absence was, for lack of a better word, terrifying.

Silence meant death. Silence meant that this whole thing, whatever it was, had reached a terminus. Silence meant that she could not bear to see what lay on the other side of those doors. Just as suddenly as the silence settled over the house, it was broken a moment later by a distant, pained scream – Harry was calling her name. She began to take account of herself. She could obviously hear, which was good. She could see, which was also good. As carefully as she under the fabric of her dress, Ginny clenched her stomach – no body bind. Good.

"Ah yes, indeed, Ginevra," Rodolphus said, his smile audible in his voice, "it sounds as though your hero is on his way now." A faint _clop-clop-clop-clop _came from the other side of the door, followed followed shortly by an explosion. _Clop-clop-clop-clop-boom. Clop-clop-clop-clop-boom._ Each successive noise was louder than the one previous and suddenly, the clopping right outside the door she was looking at.

The ornate oak door exploded, pulling its hinges from the frame, and Harry stepped into the gap where it once stood. He had been badly tortured with blood flowing down his face from a cut above his eye and an obviously broken nose, barely recognizable but for his hair and the deep green of his eyes. The blood stood out, most of all, though; he had been drenched in it. His robes, once beautiful and blue were now utterly dyed and his usually unruly hair stood still, sticking tightly to his scalp under the semi-liquid weight. Rodophus snatched her up from the ground and held his wand to her head, "Alright, Potter," he yelled, "I have your woman." He said as he shook her violently.

She looked at Harry, hunched over as though he would collapse at any moment, but his eyes darker than she had ever seen them, as though all the hatred, rage and shame of the world dwelt within those pools. His breath was labored but steady and he looked past Ginny as though the only other thing in the whole of the world was Rodolphus Lestrange. Ginny had never seen Harry so full of rancor, as though Voldemort were reborn inside his flesh. Where she had only known his love, both tender and passionate, she would now be witness to his unmitigated rage and she almost wished Lestrange would kill her to save her from seeing it. Rodolphus had been right – Harry was going to kill him.

"You've put up a fight, Potter," Lestrange sneered, "but I've won my little game. I'm going to die today, and I know it – I'm not a fool. But I have made you suffer and I will see you suffer again. Just like you took my love from me, you'll have the privilege of seeing me take your love from you. Dark lord be damned, Potter – you killed my wife!" Rodolphus roared at Harry, and Ginny had never felt fear like this before – not even in the chamber. In the Chamber, she was merely falling asleep, slipping casually into oblivion, but here – there was a chance that the last sight of her life was Harry's dead body.

Harry's breath quickened and his chest expanded and contracted violently; with every breath his body straightened a bit more, a bit more, a bit more, until by an act of will, he threw his body upright and roared. Lestrange blanched, but held Ginny tighter. He would not kill her without a proper audience and she knew it; his arrogance was her last chance. Summoning her reserves of strength, she threw an elbow hard into his ribs and flung herself to the ground, covering her head. Harry's roar grew louder and his voice cracked as though his lungs were tearing themselves apart. Without warning, Harry's voice cracked horribly and his roar stopped and the only sound left in Ginny's ears was the vague ringing of her eardrums. _Slump. Slump._ Two bodies fell, one behind her and one in front of her, and Ginny could not bring herself to look up from the floor. After a moment, it did not matter – everything went black.

* * *

Kingsley threw his body into the door once again, finally breaking through the weakened wards and sprinted down the long corridor from the Whomping Willow to the Shrieking Shack. Minerva McGonagall had taken in the survivors of the attack on Hogsmeade, so when horrible screams erupted from the village, she knew that Harry and whoever had propagated this incident were to be found there. Damn and blast his position, he was an Auror first and he wouldn't let his friends who had already sacrificed so much be hurt any further. He threw his body at the door leading into the house, which burst open and was stopped immediately by the carnage in front of him. Mangled bodies, twisted beyond human possibility, told him that whoever did this did not want them to die without pain. Being tortured with the Cruciatus curse didn't do this to someone; he couldn't imagine what would. Walking cautiously towards the staircase, he stopped to examine one of the bodies. With his arms and legs clearly shattered and limply hanging over the banister, this man looked more like a child's rag doll than a human being, with eyes opened wide and face contorted in a look that spoke only of mortal terror.

After a quick examination of the first floor only revealed more bodies, Kingsley began running up the staircase, his long legs taking steps three at a time and reached the top of the stairs before stopping to look down the hall. Every few meters, there lay an empty door frame with splinters of wood strewn about it – which meant that the last door was where he needed to go. He saw Harry in the doorway before he could see into the rest of the room, his pitch black hair a lucky giveaway to his identity. Kingsley slid in and knelt beside him, flipping him over and feeling for his heart. "Come on, Harry… I know you're in there…" Kingsley let out a great sigh of relief when he immediately felt Harry's heart beating and a slight rise and fall in his chest. Looking in the room ahead, he saw Ginny and… Merlin. The room was destroyed and on the wall was a charred outline, arms and legs splayed in awkward directions, and a smoldering body laying face down on the floor in front of the wall. Kingsley stepped past Harry and checked Ginny's wrist for a pulse before continuing towards the wall and the body in front of it. The Dark Mark was clearly visible despite the charred flesh around it and Kingsley saw all he needed to, sending a Patronus back to the one person at the Ministry whom he knew could absolutely be trusted in this situation.

Arthur Weasley sat in a shambles behind his desk. Ginny had been kidnapped and now Harry was missing as well, no doubt trying to find her. He couldn't leave the Ministry while Kingsley had left him in charge, but he had transfigured one of the extra chairs in his office into a couch for Molly to lie on. She hadn't been able to sleep at the Burrow and, even though she lay in silence, Arthur knew she wasn't sleeping here either. Reports and forms sat on his desk for review and Arthur could only thank Merlin for Percy. Arthur could think of no other person who would be here with him at this ungodly hour, reviewing reports and carrying on as professionally as possible while his sister had been abducted and his mother lay crying in the next room. Percy had been at his desk longer than Arthur had been in the building in fact, even refusing to accompany his mother to the commissary for a bite to eat. Percy had turned a leaf, Arthur knew, but in the current situation, there was not much room to admire his son. His reverie was broken by Kingsley's voice. "Arthur, I have Ginny and Harry," the lynx patronus said. "Come to the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade and bring anyone you can trust. The wards are down, so come any way you can." Arthur looked to his wife who was now sitting upright, eyes red and bulging. At the same instant, both jarred towards the door, Arthur vaulting himself over his desk despite his age.

"Percy," he called across the room, "Shrieking Shack! NOW!" Percy bolted to open the door to the Minister's office.

"There's no apparation point from here! We'll have to take the floo," he called back! Heaving powder into the grate, he stepped in just as his parents were barreling into the room to do the same.

They appeared in what had once been a very fine sitting room, which seemed to have been utterly destroyed several years before if the cushions of the seats were any indication. The cobwebs were thick in the corners and on the furniture, but as Arthur looked around and got his bearings, the double doors appeared to be broken. Crossing the room and opening the doors, a broken body fell between his feet. The door was cracked and bloody from where he had slid down to the floor. He knelt down to check the man's heart, but he knew that he would find nothing. He heard Molly and Percy behind him. "He's gone," Arthur told them.

"Yeah," Percy replied approaching a whisper, "no shit."

Arthur stood to face his son, but Percy only stood gawking aghast out the doors slack jawed, with Molly standing behind him looking much the same. Arthur turned to look out the doors in earnest for the first time and quickly assumed the same expression as his wife and son. It could only be described as a massacre, as though some gruesome maestro had conducted a symphony of blood and pain. The blood spattered on the walls of the sunroom nearly twenty feet high and the bodies were twisted and mangled as though someone had wrung them of their blood like water from a washrag. What must have once been fine sidetables and décor were now so many splinters strewn about. The pieces of window still in their frames had blood slowly dripping from them into large puddles. Clearly, whoever had done this had done so within the hour, which left Arthur dreading the short list of possible perpetrators.

He navigated his was carefully through the room, entering the front hall where a similar but largely bloodless scene had played out. It seemed that the savagery of the previous room may have mollified the attacker, if violently wrenched joints and twisted bodies could be called better than an indistinguishable pile of what had once been men now strewn about the room with a sheen of blood coating the floor. "Kingsley," Arthur called out. "Where are you?" After a moment, the sound of running could be heard upstairs. The Weasleys mounted the steps as quickly as possible, in time to see Kingsley only yards away. "Percy, Arthur, come with me. I'm sorry, Molly," he said the clearly affronted Weasley matron, "but there are some things that must remain confidential within the Ministry. I'll need you to wait outside the door while we handle our loose ends, but it shouldn't take but a moment."

Molly Weasley looked like she could have recreated the scenes they had walked through right at that moment. Her fury at being blocked from seeing her children was tangible and both Arthur and Percy took steps away from her and Kingsley. She flung the Minister aside and marched down the hall. "Your secrets be damned, Kingsley, and you can keep them," she yelled, her voice echoing back to them, "I will see my children!" Arthur ran after her while Percy and Kingsley stayed a distance behind him, ostensibly to discuss how to handle the situation, but more to the point that neither wanted to see Molly Weasley when she saw Harry and Ginny. Her shriek rattled through the hall and she fell where she stood, slipping to the floor before her husband could reach her.

* * *

A.N: I am sorry it's taken so long to put out new work, but I hope you all like it. Please review, because I've discovered just how addictive they are. Also, I want to reiterate that this is not a Dark!Harry or Super!Harry story. Hopefully once I get back to the rest of the storyline, you'll better understand why this violent reprieve was, if not necessary, then influential.


	15. In Your Eyes

This chapter is inspired by the song "In Your Eyes" by Peter Gabriel. Standard disclaimers apply

In Your Eyes

Ginny sat alone and unmoving, oblivious to the people whirring in and out of the room at Saint Mungo's. Sometimes, it was a healer or a mediwitch. Sometimes it was a friend or family member who brought her food or cleared the uneaten food away from in front of her. Sometimes, it was a journalist disguised as a healer or mediwitch who was quickly pummeled by the various groups acting as security outside the door. Her brothers were there. So were several members of the Order of the Phoenix. There were always two Aurors present, day or night, though they were not allowed to be the "last line of defense". Since the last journalist foolishly attempted to get her picture, Bill and Charlie had stood stock-still on either side of her door frame, apparently chatting idly with each other, but each as attentive as the other to the goings-on around them. Ginny was oblivious to these people, because the only person in her entire world lay unconscious on the bed in front of her. Two weeks after Hogsmeade, Harry still had not woken up.

The Healers had never seen anything like it: his magical energy was visible when he was brought into the hospital, radiating from him in a faint blue aura. It was yet another utterly incomprehensible magical feat performed by Mr. Harry Potter for the amusement and entertainment of witches and wizards all over the British Isles. For his next trick, _he would be waking the bloody hell up! _

Ginny felt so lost sometimes. Days passed and a sickening emptiness had filled her heart, as thought it was in some way preparing itself for the loss of Harry, yet there he laid, nominally alive right before her eyes. The healers had told her that they couldn't find anything wrong with him, not even magical exhaustion ("That would suggest that there was _a way_ to exhaust that much magic," one healer had said a little bit tooout of hand). He simply hadn't awakened. She had tried kissing him. She had tried talking to him. She had tried a few things Hermione and Fleur suggested that her mother would have disapproved of. None of it had any effect other than sapping another bit of her hope.

The stories in the Prophet were the worst, because they weren't based in fact at all. Even after Hermione's graphic warning in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, the reports in the Daily Prophet were little more than conjecture about what had happened in the Shrieking Shack (_"Potter's Aria ends Death Eater menace!"_), why Ginny was involved (_"Who is Ginny Weasley? Potter's Princess revealed!"_), why Harry went alone (_"Harry Potter desperately suicidal following Battle of Hogwarts"_), and why he was still unconscious (_"The Boy-Who-Lived dies in St. Mungo's as Ministry looks on!"_). Each story was worse than the last and by the second day of after Ginny regained consciousness (and the fourth day after the incident), the Daily Prophet was banned from the ward and new issues were confiscated daily.

Even though she had never seen it, Ginny had heard a bit of what was happening in the Shrieking Shack while she was incapacitated, but had she not seen Harry in the aftermath, she never would have believed what she was told. Mangled bodies flung like rags into corners; entire pools of blood dripping from the ceiling; Gregory Goyle's hand cut off – all done by Harry when he had thought she was dead. She could only imagine what had been so convincing that Harry had actually done all of that in retaliation. What's more, he had been able to break free of his own captivity to best almost twenty men who would not have simply let him go. The more Ginny thought about it… the more Harry scared her.

Here was a man who was so determined to be peaceful that _Expelliarmus_ was considered his signature spell, and now he had killed, and based on the way he looked in the Shrieking Shack, it had not been without intent. What did this make him? Was he… different… now? Was the Harry she loved still… Was he…

Ginny felt trapped inside the room, but when she wanted to run away, she would always return to the feeling that this room was precisely where she needed to be, if only because this room was the only place where she could see if the Harry that lie unresponsive across from her was the same Harry that put his robes over her shoulders in Hogsmeade. She could not stand it if he was gone – he meant far too much to her.

She thought back to the first time she saw him after the battle, looking not unlike he did now, still and if not peaceful, then at rest. She craved going to sleep and waking up with his arm around her the way she had that first night. Instead, for the first time in three days, Ginny stood up and went to the door. When she grabbed the knob and turned it, the resulting weight of the door felt impossibly heavy in her grasp and she could only barely open the door before she felt exhausted from the effort.

Charlie stuck his head in and looked surprised when he saw her up and moving. "Ginny! Come on out, Mum'll be happy to see you out of that chair. Has Harry…," Charlie started before his voice trailed off when he saw Ginny's face cloud over and her eyes drop to the floor. "Right, well come on out anyway. Do you need anything to eat?"

Ginny shook her head silently before her stomach grumbled quite audibly. She seemed utterly consternated to have to admit that, yes, in fact she probably did need something to eat, but she just wasn't interested in anything. It was probably for the best that Charlie said something though – she would have let herself waste away in that chair watching Harry, continuing to ignore the meals that her family brought in and cleared away.

People gathered around her quickly, flooding her senses and making her feel entirely uncomfortable. Bill and Fleur, Ron and Hermione, her father, and even George were desperately asking her if she was alright, if Harry was awake, and if she needed anything. She felt herself shrink under their collective weight until her mother's voice erupted over the din; "You will step away from Ginny at once! For Merlin's sake, Arthur, let the girl breathe," and the group stepped back to reveal her mother looking quite flustered at all of them before setting her softening gaze on Ginny.

"Ginny, is there anything anyone can do for you," she asked simply and quietly, as though she already knew the answer that she would be given? It hurt Ginny in some way to see how she was hurting the rest of her family. Fred's burial had come and gone and she had refused to leave Harry's side. The significance of her actions finally and suddenly slapped her in the face – her family had barely had time to bury their lost son and brother and Harry was catatonic. She had been selfish to indulge in her futile waiting for Harry… waiting for him yet again in a sort of sick repeated theme of her life.

It wasn't his fault… same as ever. It was never his fault. Hermione had been right when she said that he would notice her if she was herself around him instead of constantly running away and acting like she was starstruck – it wasn't his fault that she hadn't put her best foot forward. Hermione had also been right when she said that he wouldn't make a move on her while she was with someone else. Not his fault that he was a good man and she was taken. It wasn't even his fault when he broke up with her… this fucking war. And now… how could she say it was his fault when he had come to rescue her, yet again?

"Mum…," Ginny said finally with some hesitation, "can I please have something to eat?" A shaky, tearful smile came across Molly Weasley's face.

"Of course, dear," she said, her voice trembling, "come along then." Molly took her gently, almost faintly, by the hand, leading her to the elevators to take her to the cafeteria in St. Mungo's. She felt a strong hand on her shoulder and turned to see Ron's form, looming like a stone giant next to her with Hermione holding his other hand. She leaned into his chest, grateful that he did not try to ask her any more questions, especially because she did not have any answers.

Unfortunately, as soon as they stepped off the elevator, they were bombarded by flashbulbs and screaming reporters and Ginny felt rather like fainting, for all the little bulbs looked like small explosions and spellfire flashing before her. Before she knew what had happened, Ron had stepped off the elevator and turned to her mother.

"I'll bring some food back up," he said quietly, before he turned back to the reporters and cracked his neck viciously as the elevator doors closed in front of her. Her mother hurriedly pushed the button to go back to the ward as noise from outside flooded the elevator shaft.

"You lot were warned," Ron shouted, his voice still loud even as the distance between them grew, "and so now I get to deal with you. Skeeter-like." Shouts could be heard but they faded as the elevator stopped, announcing the floor. Ginny hoped that Ron wouldn't lose his temper (too badly… he was a Weasley, after all, and couldn't be expected to stay calm) but she also knew that whatever he did would get cleared up straightaway. Her family was very close with the Minister and… Ginny stopped in mid-thought, feeling slightly nauseous. Ginny wondered suddenly if this was what life had been like for the Malfoys or other Slytherin purebloods: doing anything you wanted because there were no consequences. The thought bothered her – she was not a bully, nor would she let her brother be one. Hermione also seemed bothered by the casual air Ron wore – he had stepped off the elevator apparently to do violence and he should not be so cavalier about the act.

Ginny sat down in an empty chair in the elevator lobby and Hermione sat down next to her. Ginny began to sink back into herself as she became aware of the looks over the shoulders and the too-long glances being taken at her expense as though she were some sort of specimen of tragedy. "Hermione," she whispered, not looking at her friend, "I can't be here anymore."

Hermione, fortunately, seemed to understand. "Do you need to be alone or do you need to leave the hospital," she asked. Ginny merely shrugged, unsure herself what she needed. She did not want to be subject to the worried glances of her family, but she did not want to worry them with her absence. Hermione nodded in reply before standing and walking over to Ginny's father and whispering in his ear.

He nodded. Again. His face grew concerned. Sad. Accepting. Hermione stepped back and looked in his face and he put his hands on her shoulders before grimacing, closing his eyes, and nodding one final time. Hermione hugged him and he hugged her back fiercely, as though he were trying to communicate through her how much he loved his daughter.

Ginny understood.

Hermione walked back over to her and started to lead her to the stairwell at the opposite end of the ward. As they approached Harry's room, Ginny bit her lip – it shouldn't be like this. She stopped in front of the door, unable to will herself to actually look inside at his unconscious form. Closing her eyes, she steeled herself and walked the familiar path to his bedside. She opened them again to find herself next to him and looked over at his bedside table… he would want his glasses when he woke up. She picked up the frames and slid them gently up the bridge of his nose and pushed the earpieces back through his shaggy hair and let them rest easily on his face. She leaned down to kiss him, whispering almost silently as she did, "I love you, Harry."

"…ny." The voice was breathless and weak, but she had heard him.

"Hermione! _HERMIONE,"_ she screamed and Hermione ran to her side as quickly as she could, followed by Molly, who stopped in the doorframe with the other Weasley faces peering around her. Ginny looked at Hermione with tears in her eyes, unable to articulate what had happened, what she felt, what in the world had just happened.

"g-ny." The voice was a weak moan being forced up a throat that had been ravaged by its own force and had been untried since. Hermione choked back a sob and covered her astonished, gaping mouth, looking back and forth from Harry, Ginny, and the Weasleys, all of whom had heard the sound they had been so desperately awaiting.

Ginny fixed her gaze on his face and watched as his eyes moved rapidly under lids which were struggling to open. Taking his hand and leaning over him, she whispered, voice uncertain but full of hope, "Harry?"

His eyes burst open and looked directly at her, filling themselves with light and heat at the sight of her. Ginny fell to her knees at his bedside and began to cry joyfully, still clutching his hand and laughing uncontrollably as his fingers weakly and sporadically stroked hers. For the first time in weeks, Ginny Weasley felt complete again. Her Harry had returned to her yet again.


	16. Sympathy

Sympathy for the Devil

After he woke up, Harry's stay in St. Mungo's had been short. After all, no one could identify a single discernable malady that kept him unconscious for those weeks in the first place. He walked out the doors under his own power only to find a gaggle of reporters lying in wait – apparently, someone in the ward had tipped them off that the "Potter Party" was leaving… or perhaps they had simply been camping out for the past two weeks. Harry admitted he was paranoid, but given the events of "the previous night", he felt he should be allowed some degree of leeway where his "protective instincts" were concerned. Ginny, for her part, seemed to need him as much as he needed her.

He sat alone on the camp bed in Ron's bedroom at the Burrow, saying he needed to have a kip but instead replaying what events he could honestly recall in his mind. To be fair, there wasn't much. He remembered the red light from the _stupefy_ that had been cast as he walked through the door… and then he remembered Ginny lying there on the floor, dead. He had never felt so sick in all his life, as he had at that moment. The sight of her limp, cold body flooded his thoughts and he shivered the memory away – it was not real… it had been a boggart, he knew. He kicked at his trunk next to the bed in frustration at the feeling of being weak.

Worst of all was hearing about what had happened after the fact and not knowing the whole truth himself, as though he were being told a story he already knew parts of. Molly and Arthur still hadn't told him what they had seen in the house; he'd had to corner Percy to get any answer at all. "You killed them, Harry," Percy had said very quietly (noticeably, without any edge of accusation in his voice).

The answer did not satisfy Harry – he knew that much already, but he could not even obtain a copy of the official report from Kingsley, and to make the matter worse, the one time Harry WANTED a copy of the Daily Prophet, it was being kept from him – "it's still too sensationalized, Harry," Arthur had said, "just give it time and it will blow over and everything will be right as rain again."

But Harry had never been patient. Certainly he had matured over the years, but patience was not what anyone would consider a defining characteristic of Mr. Harry James Potter. Harry knew there had to be a way to find out what was going on around him while appearing to be doing something else. But what?

_Oh yes, Mr. Weasley, I feel a sudden and overwhelming need to start working as an Auror and I simply cannot be convinced otherwise_. No one was that stupid – except… no… no one was that stupid.

_Mr. Weasley, I'd rather fancy just going for a fly for a while. _No.

_Mr. Weasley, I'd like to go to Hogwarts and see if I can help_. Harry couldn't even convince HIMSELF he would go there at the moment.

_Mr. Weasley, I need to sort out this issue with Gringotts. Shouldn't take but an afternoon._ Harry sat in silence for a moment as the idea rolled around in his head. It was true; he did need to resolve several matters between himself and Gringotts and some of them should be attended to immediately (and it certainly didn't make him feel bad that he would be putting the Weasley family on his list of lieutenants). Plus, he could not deny he wondered what inheriting the Peverell vault meant. At least, he had wondered before… well, before now.

If he was going to attempt to go out into public, he knew now was the time. He felt a tinge of guilt about knowing that he would take his ulterior motive to a man who had done so much for him, but Harry needed to know… to know what... he had done.

It had been some time since Harry felt anything like this. Two years to be exact. The death of Sirius had made Harry feel hollow as though he had himself betrayed the man and now here he was, wishing for all the world that the feeling of sickness would be taken away from his stomach. He chuckled bitterly, remembering another lesson from two years ago; it was tragically amusing to him that the Cruciatus curse really did require some skill to cast, as well as the intent to harm.

Harry felt that he had the skill in the Department of Mysteries, but as Bellatrix said, "you have to mean it!"

He was certain that the Snatchers who captured him desired nothing more than to see him in pain, but there was a marked lack of magical skill – just like a thug loudly cracking his knuckles, they were all bluster without the ability to back it up.

The confluence of the two was certainly…

Harry shook himself of the thought and strolled down the flights of stairs, finding Mr. Weasley in the kitchen, smiling sadly at him. Harry steeled himself to tell a half-truth to a man who meant more to him than almost any other in the world. Arthur nodded sadly as Harry explained what he would be doing, as though every word dripped left a foam of lies on his lips, but rather than try to argue with him, Harry was pulled into a gentle hug by his father figure; "Go do what you have to do, son."

The words hurt Harry's heart – he knew that Arthur knew he had not told him the truth, but he still had the older man's blessing. He nodded, ran back upstairs to collect his invisibility cloak, and returned to the fireplace. He looked once back to the kitchen and saw that it was empty. Feeling a tinge of regret, he picked up a pinch of floo powder and said loudly and clearly, "Gringotts Bank!"

Sticking his head in the fireplace, he waited until a small goblin's head appeared in the flames. "Ah, Mr. Potter. We've been looking forward to your call," the goblin said with a grim smile on its face. "My name is Broadnax. How may I be of service?"

Harry cleared his throat and tried to keep his face as neutral as possible. "Very well, Broadnax, I will be arriving shortly and would like to meet with the Chief Executor as well as Mr. William Weasley, it matters little in which order. Also, I would appreciate it if I would be able to meet with Griphook first, before either meeting."

The goblin eyed Harry carefully before nodding. "Very well, Harry Potter. Griphook shall be available momentarily, and you will meet with the Chief Executor thereafter. Mr. Weasley will be available when you have finished with the Chief Executor." Harry nodded his assent. "Will there be anything else, Harry Potter."

Harry began to shake his head, but quickly said, "Yes, actually. I will be invisible upon my arrival so as not to draw a crowd. I would appreciate it if Griphook could be in the lobby when I arrive to lead me to someplace more private for these meetings."

The Goblin cocked an eyebrow appreciatively; "Very good, Mr. Potter. We shall expect you momentarily." Harry let the goblin's face disappear from the fire before grabbing another pinch of powder and flooing to Diagon Alley.

Harry arrived at Gringotts under the cover of his father's cloak, winding through the masses of people trying to return to their normal lives before the past hellish year. Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes was still closed, but it wasn't too surprising – most shops were. Furthermore, George wasn't likely to be in much condition to be running a shop at the moment. As he slinked in behind another wizard before the heavy bronze doors closed to him, he looked around the building, looking as though it had never been touched by an escaping dragon and wandfire.

The large lobby was bustling with activity, and to avoid someone running into him, he walked over to a wall and stood against it, trying to spot Griphook among so many people. A door in the back opened and closed and after a moment, Harry saw Griphook appear from behind the large counter. He made his way towards the familiar goblin, snaking between people, careful to avoid contact. As Griphook looked straight ahead in wait, Harry approached from his side.

"Hello Griphook," he said quietly. The goblin, for his part, did not draw attention to the fact that a voice was coming from seemingly no-where. "Thank you for agreeing to meet me out front." Griphook smiled as genuinely as Harry imagined a goblin could smile.

"Indeed, Harry Potter," Griphook said quietly. "If you would follow me." Griphook then turned and walked back behind the counter, allowing Harry to follow through the warded gates and doors. Gringotts was very interesting from this side, Harry decided. The goblins sat on very high stools and Harry had to stifle a chuckle as he watched some of them swing their legs idly through the air.

Harry was led into a large office with several goblins at several short desks, and on the side of the room were two large double doors with the words "Chief Executor" on a large plaque on the door. Harry looked through the room in awe of the large windows and the way Diagon Alley seemed to drive itself to the very point where Harry now stood, as though he himself were at the center of Wizarding London. Looking at his feet, several lines did in fact converge beneath him – it struck Harry that at that moment, he was at the center, and he had never before felt what he did then.

The view out the windows was, for lack of a better word, complete. He could see the shops bustling and people coming and going, quite certain that even if they could see in the windows, they would not be able to make him out. Harry liked the feeling – as though he was removed. He was not involved in every minute incident that he saw and at the same time, he felt as though nothing was out of his vision, as though he were standing on a hill overlooking some great valley.

His reverie was interrupted by the croaking of a deep, ugly voice. "Ah, Mr. Potter, I see you are enjoying the view. I would encourage you to relish it now while you can – only a very, very few ever see it at all and of those, fewer still will see it again."

Harry turned to see a fat goblin smirking at him in a way reminiscent of Uncle Vernon as he prepared to hand Harry a particularly bad thrashing. It was not a pleasant sight for Harry, especially as he was quite certain that his face was showing the full scope of the awe he felt. The goblin's reaction confirmed it, as his smile grew even larger and, if it was possibly, more predatory. _Oh yes, _Harry thought, _here comes a wolf right now._

The goblin waddled forward and extended its clawing hand toward Harry. "Mr. Potter, it is a singular pleasure to meet you. I must say that when I received notification regarding Vault 2, I was quite surprised, but then when I discovered that it was you that I should be contacting… well, it was much less surprising. You do seem to have a knack for accomplishing the impossible, Mr. Potter," he said with a cocked eyebrow as Harry took his hand loosely and shook it limply, his head still unclear from the view he had just taken in. "Please allow me to introduce myself – I am Dietzel, the chief executor of trusts and estates for Gringotts."

"At any rate, Mr. Potter, you will please follow me and we may discuss the business at hand." The chief executor turned and walked back through the double doors and Harry followed, the spell of the window broken as his vantage changed. The goblin cleared his throat unceremoniously and began.

"Mr. Potter, it is my duty to explain to you the terms by which Vault 2 was opened and the assets not only contained therein, but also the real assets which will now belong to you as well." Harry had heard things like this before at Gringotts, and then in Griphook's letter to him. Frankly, he was not interested in what new trinkets he had accrued but rather how they had come to him. The why and how of the thing was more important to Harry now than the what – Hermione would have been thrilled if he had applied that same thought process to his studies.

"Mr. Potter, part of the process for the disbursement of Vault 2 is that I am to read to you a letter from the previous owner." Harry's mind shot in an instant to Ignotus Peverell – it only made sense that the Peverell Vault would have been last owned by him. Dietzel opened a drawer in his desk and drew out an old sealed scroll tube. "Mr. Potter, if you would be so kind, you must press your finger to this seal to confirm that you are, in fact, the proper inheritor of Vault 2. Harry looked up to see Dietzel extending the tube to him; he took it and pressed his finger to the plain red wax seal as instructed, only to have it unceremoniously fall away, leaving him somewhat disappointed that what was sure to be a momentous event had no magical warmth or glow or vision to accompany it. He handed the tube back to the goblin, who shook out a small scroll with another, more familiar seal on it – the mark of the Deathly Hallows, or as he had come to understand it now, the mark of the Peverell family.

"When I break this seal, Mr. Potter," Dietzel began.

"Harry," Harry exclaimed, locking eyes with the goblin. Becoming very self-aware that he had just yelled at an extremely influential figure, he turned his eyes away and said, "I'm just Harry. Please don't stand on formality on my account."

The Chief Executor appraised him for a moment before continuing, "Very well, _Harry_. When I break this seal, I am magically bound to keep whatever secrets may lie within. Unlike your Unbreakable Vow, I am unable to reveal what I read to any other person at any other time, even under Veritaserum or other methods of coercion." Harry looked at Dietzel in slight disbelief, but the goblin simply waved his hand. "We are in the business of keeping secrets, Harry. Banking is largely ensuring that things do not disseminate to those to whom they do not belong." The seal was snapped away by Dietzel's finger and he unrolled the scroll and began to read.

_My name is Ignotus Peverell and you, whoever you are, have accomplished what I consider to be my life's work. Even now, during my lifetime, the legends have spread about "The Three Brothers", and I find it amusing that the tale of my death is being reported even before my time has come. I do hope that it will be as simple and painless as casting this cloak aside and greeting an old friend – that does sound simply wonderful at my age._

_In any event, it is important that I explain to you what I have done and failed to do and what your success in this matter means. My brothers and I did, in fact, meet Death on that night of legend – the legend itself is surprisingly accurate, I might add – and we did gain the tools to become "Masters of Death", but my brothers were as arrogant as the legends claim and sought to humiliate Death, which I thought wholly unwise myself. The instruments themselves, though, are not cursed, contrary to popular opinion. As I have observed the Elder Wand as it has made its way (and indeed I have observed it), it is the arrogance of those who wield it that leads to their untimely demise. Inevitably, the "unbeatable wand" is beaten, but not because it was not powerful enough, but because the wielder believed that it was they who were powerful, not the wand._

_Upon my brothers' deaths, I endeavored to recollect the artifacts to return them to their maker, thus absolving any offenses my brothers and I committed against Death. I have been unsuccessful. It is my thought, for I daren't say belief, that Death may be mastered insofar as one's fear of it is concerned. Death, as I am sure you now understand, is inevitable. It comes for us all, and while some cleverer wizards may take steps to cheat Death, Death will come for them as well in due time._

_Reuniting the Deathly Hallows has made you what I can only describe as the closest thing Death has to "a friend". Death follows you, or perhaps you follow Death, but nonetheless, the two of you are inextricably intertwined. You will find over the course of your life that your relationship with Death is very much what you make of it. I will leave it to you to determine how you will interpret that thought._

_So now, I leave this to you – my second will such as it is. The Vault I have in Gringotts will forever house the Hallows. While the items themselves may be elsewhere, they shall never be denied to the Master of Death should he desire them. Furthermore, I leave to you the considerable wealth gained by my brothers. I do not believe that I have any claim to it, nor do my children. I believe that it is only appropriate for the person who has, in effect, reunited my brothers and me to benefit from his efforts._

_Finally, I give to you the only honor I have to bestow. I do not know what the future holds for my family line, and so I, as head of the House of Peverell, do hereby abdicate that title. You, the Master of Death, are now head of the Ancient and Honourable House of Peverell and you will find within my Vault the ring which bears our seal. If you are as journeyed as I would expect, you will be familiar with it._

_Hold within your heart the knowledge that you are enlightened far beyond the capacities of most. Do not use this knowledge for ill, but rather take cares to ensure that when Death does finally come for you, you may await him peacefully and embrace him as an old friend._

_Ignotus Peverell_

Dietzel looked up at Harry as he finished the letter. "Harry Potter, I am now to read for you a summary of contents… Harry Potter?" Harry's face was buried in his hands – it was already too much to process. Harry simply nodded, encouraging him to continue reading, but Harry no longer listened. He did not need to hear a full summary of the new things he had. He did not want things. He wanted…

"Mr. Potter, unless you have other business for me, I believe that we are concluded for the day. I'm sure you can imagine that there is no key necessary for Vault 2 and I've taken the liberty of sending a copy of your portfolio to Mr. William Weasley, with whom I understand you are to meet when we have concluded our affairs."

Harry looked up from his hands to see the Goblin looking down at him, somewhat officiously. Harry's time was up and now it was back to business as usual. How did the world work that way? As far as Harry was concerned, his world was grinding and there was very little to be done to get it moving again. Nonetheless, Harry rose from his seat, accepted the Goblin's hand, and with one last shake, turned to walk back out the door.

Sitting on the edge of a desk in the outer office was Bill. When he saw Harry, his face cracked into a sympathetic smile. "Alright there, Harry?" Harry nodded and tried to crack a smile back, but simply could not. Bill quickly made his way across the office to him, leading him gently out of the large room and down another hall. Pushing a door open, he sat Harry in front of a small desk with papers coming at odd angles from their stacks. A map of the Earth was pinned to his back wall and many different-colored pins were pushed in different places, presumably places Bill had worked.

"So, Harry," Bill said, drawing his attention again, "I've got your portfolio here… and honestly, I don't know where to start." Bill walked behind his desk and picked up the top binder of several large, bursting folios. "I've never worked with a client with so many assets. Frankly, I don't think anyone at Gringotts has." Bill scratched his scarred face thoughtfully, "but I am glad that you thought of me. And while we're on that subject, I wanted to get your opinion on handling this." Harry sat down as Bill gestured to a chair in front of his desk. "As a financier, Harry, I have been trained to disburse assets as deemed appropriate by the client, but to be frank with you, this will be quite a lot of work." Harry's expression blanched, feeling guilty that he was imposing upon Bill, who quickly raised a hand to silence him in a decidedly-Arthur Weasley fashion.

"It is not more than I can handle Harry, do not worry about that, but I believe that it would serve your better interests if you had two advisors. Obviously, I thought of Fleur, but if you would prefer, I'm absolutely sure that I can find another who would be willing to help me with your account." Bill looked hopeful that Harry would quickly assent to his suggestion, but Harry had to process... had to talk this over.

"I…," Harry began before the words died in his mouth. Bill looked concerned and even disappointed that Harry did not immediately agree. "Bill, before I agree to anyone else, I need to speak with you about my needs. Is that fair?"

Bill nodded understandingly, "of course, Harry. I'm sorry that I got ahead of myself. What is it that you're hoping to do with your assets?"

Harry looked around the office uncertainly. He didn't know. He couldn't know. What on Earth does one do with trillions of galleons? "That's just it, Bill. I have no idea. I mean, I could buy the Quidditch League outright. I could buy multiple Quidditch leagues, probably." Harry froze as the realization worked through his mind. "Fuck, Bill. I really could, couldn't I?"

Bill, for his part, remained impassive as he had since Harry had asked him to hear out his needs. He considered the question for a moment before nodding his head. Harry sat back in his chair, sighing tiredly. "Bill, I'm sorry, but I can't do this just this second. It's too much and I underestimated how hard this would be."

Bill nodded again, this time with sympathy etching his face. "I understand, Harry. You can always make an appointment. But do bear in mind that nothing will happen until you say so. This cannot be left alone."

Harry gave a small jerk of the head in something resembling assent. Bill walked around his desk and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "While you're here though, Harry, there's something I think you should see." He looked up at Bill wordlessly, but curiosity filled his brow. "Come on then, Harry. To the vaults."

Harry followed Bill down the hall of doors and through the one leading to the track to the vaults. The sloping path was shorter than Harry remembered it, but with all the adrenaline pumping through his brain the last time he was here, it was more impressive that he remembered the hall at all. As they reached the end, Bill approached a goblin waiting in a cart; Harry could not hear him over the din of carts thrashing about on the rails beneath them, but Bill turned and signaled for Harry to join him. They sped off, deep into the vaults, though not so deep as Harry had ventured recently, until they jerked to a halt in front of a vault of reasonable security.

"Harry, this is your family vault," Bill began and Harry's throat dried immediately. "Here is your key. Would you like to see inside?" He handed Harry the small golden object as Harry nodded slowly, a look resembling fear spreading across his features. What if…

His thoughts were interrupted by the goblin that steered the cart for them snatching his key and toddling up to the vault, inserting the small, otherwise non-descript piece of metal and stepping into the door. Gears and pistons swallowed the small creature whole as the door itself seemed to come to life with cogs and presses clanking and turning as it swelled almost all the way to the edge of the track. Finally acknowledging the goblin and sliding aside, revealing the goblin to be, as expected, unharmed, Harry got the first look at his family vault.

Shelves and chests and rows of tables piled high with galleons and trinkets of various sorts all flanked the sides, but one thing drew Harry's eye, straight ahead of him against the back wall. A proud tapestry hung on the wall in full Gryffindor colors, gold on bright red and as Harry stepped out of his cart and walked slowly into his vault toward it, he could see more detail. Not unlike the wall at Grimmauld Place, this tapestry detailed the Potter family, but for many more generations than he had seen of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. It was the center, though that he was focused on. A stag and a lion rampant on either side of a golden shield with a red chevron, beneath it an unfurled scroll. Harry finally reached the wall as Bill looked on sympathetically. This was the first time Harry had seen anything of his family's, after all.

Harry turned to him with tears in his eyes. "_Potius Mori Quam Foedare_, Bill. That's my family motto… what does it mean?"

Bill thought for a second – having been behind a desk had put some dust on his languages – before looking back at Harry, calling out, "Rather to die than to be dishonored."

Harry snorted, thinking back to Remus – _"No, I think you're like James, who would have __regarded it as the height of dishonor to 'mistrust' his friends."_ He took off his glasses and wiped at his eyes for a moment while Bill and the Goblin looked on in respectful but uncomfortable silence, which the goblin took upon itself to break by clearing his throat quite unceremoniously. Harry turned around after a moment and walked out of the vault, not bothering to look at anything else.

"Would it be possible for me to get a catalogue of the contents before I leave today," Harry asked quietly, his eyes still looking at the ground a few feet in front of him. Bill looked at the goblin, which shrugged, but nodded.

"Sure Harry," Bill said, putting a hand on his shoulder and guiding him back into the cart, which quickly rocketed back up to the surface.

Harry sat in silence on the trip up and remained so on the trip back to Bill's office. When they arrived, Harry sat heavily in the chair in front of Bill's desk, staring into space at the papers on his desk. Bill remained quiet, but could not realistically afford to be sitting in his office doing nothing, even with the man who was going to become, for all intents and purposes, his only client. After a moment, Harry spoke up,

"Between you and Fleur, who is more versed in properties? Houses and the like?" Harry's eyes were still fixed on the non-point on Bill's desk.

"Probably me. Are you thinking of buying or selling?"

"Maybe both," he said, his voice leveling out again. "For now, though, I just want to have some work done on some of my properties and I'd like to have some curse-breakers have a go-through just to make sure that they're safe to be renovated."

Bill nodded approvingly – this was a good first step: assessing current assets. "Which properties? "

Harry looked up at Bill, "Grimmauld Place and my parent's house in Godric's Hollow." Bill managed to stay impassive, but his heart broke for the man sitting in front of him.

"Very good, Harry. Will there be anything for Fleur?"

Harry considered all the things he could do with the money: founding charities, spending ridiculous amounts on lavish vacations, before he finally smiled whimsically at an idea.

"Every member of Dumbledore's Army through Hogwarts. Robes, books, brooms, even the sweets on the trolley. Have her establish a fund. And their children as well." Bill smirked at him.

"You know Harry, that's very generous of you, but that's not exactly what an advisor would consider a sound investment. Some might say that you're showing too much favoritism…"

"What can I say, Bill," Harry responded shrugging, "I'm a man of wealth and taste."


End file.
